


Long Exposure

by Rosewhipped



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Allusions to necrophilia i guess, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Awesome Charlie, Basically, Blindfolds, Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant, Captive Castiel, Castiel Whump, Castiel in the Bunker, Cock Cages, Cock Rings, Drinking to Cope, Drugged Sex, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face-Fucking, Gags, Gang Rape, Gun Violence, Guns, Healing, Homeless Castiel, Human Castiel, Human Castiel in the Bunker, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Kevin Lives, Kevin Tran Lives, Knives, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Non-Consensual, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Violence, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Pain, Painful Sex, Panic Attacks, Pegging, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rescue Missions, Sexual Violence, Sick Castiel, Sounding, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Torture again, Violence, dangerous breathplay, everything, just a reminder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2018-08-08 09:51:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 123,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7752889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosewhipped/pseuds/Rosewhipped
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean kicks Castiel out of the bunker, they have no contact for months.  Once the Gadreel/Ezekiel situation is finally resolved, Dean tries to reach out, but cannot get in touch with Cas.  To his horror, he soon discovers his friend has been in trouble for a long time.  Dark Fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

It had been months.  _Months_ since he’d heard from Cas.  Months since he’d kicked him out of the bunker with nothing to ease his transition, but an old cell phone and an amount of money Dean now considered appallingly inadequate.  At the time it was all the cash Dean had been able to spare, it wasn’t like he could have just gotten more from the ATM.  Bank accounts were for real people, not monster slaying drifters.

Dean hadn’t called Cas.  He hadn’t wanted to call his friend until he could tell him to come back.  There was no way Dean could apologize to Cas without offering a reason, an explanation for rushing to his rescue and then bringing him back to the bunker for a warm shower and a hot meal only to turn him out the same night. 

He knew Cas didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t know how to be a human.  It shouldn’t have been surprising, considering the most in-depth examples Cas had for how to live without wings were him and Sam and they both bullshit their way around the country, faking everything except for the moments when they were ganking monsters. 

Cas’s limited knowledge should have been especially clear to Dean when he had told the newly minted human to come to the bunker in Kansas and Cas had been steadily traveling in a different direction.  Not that Dean could blame him.  Beggars couldn’t be choosers.  Without any money, all a fallen angel on the run could do would be to ask for help, to keep moving and rely on strangers even when he had no way of knowing who he could trust. 

They had caught up to Cas just in time to watch him be killed.  Watching that reaper stab Cas, Dean had felt like he was the one with a knife plunging into his chest.  After Ezekiel—no, Gadreel—saved Castiel there had been a brief couple of hours where Dean had felt hopeful for the first time since the angels fell. 

Driving with his brother and Castiel back to the bunker, Dean felt like he was bringing his family home.  He had come so close to losing both of them and it was like a weight off his chest to see them both in the car.  The bunker was his home turf and he felt certain he’d be able to keep them safe there. 

Dean had felt kind of bad for thinking it, but some part of him had even been glad that Castiel couldn’t fly away.  Going off on his own never seemed to end well for the angel, but that hadn’t stopped Dean from casting him out as soon as things got a little hairy.

 

 

Dean tried Cas’s number again.  He wasn’t expecting anything different from when he tried an hour earlier.  The phone was just off, cutting right to voicemail without ringing.  Dean had left messages, but that had been days ago. 

More than a week had passed since the Gadreel situation had finally been resolved.  A case involving angels had revealed Ezekiel’s true identity and Dean’s suspicions grew until he convinced Crowley to help expel Gadreel from his brother in exchange for his freedom.  Releasing the king of hell had resulted in several days of silence from Kevin. 

Dean had called Cas right away, an apology on his tongue, only to be met by the toneless generic recording.    

It took him two days after Sam was himself again to confess to him that Cas hadn’t left on his own.  Sam was pissed to say the least, disgusted with Dean for lying to him about something else.  Still, if Sam weren’t so set on being a little bitch about it, he’d realize it was really all part of the _same_ lie.  Not that it made any of this better.  Sam’s call and subsequent message to Cas hadn’t been returned either. 

With his finger hovering over the call button, Dean stared at Cas’s number.  For some reason it hadn’t dawned on him that this one phone number was his only precarious connection to Cas.  His only way of finding him.  In the past, all it took was a prayer.  Now Dean had to pray that Cas would charge his phone or turn it on, because without it he had no idea where his friend might have gotten to. 

Cas hadn’t ever called him either, but Dean had just figured that Castiel didn’t want to talk to him.  That he was mad, his feelings hurt at being thrown, without explanation, back into the world that had just killed him, by someone who had called him family.  So Dean didn’t blame Cas for that at all.  Cas had every right to be upset with him.  Hell, Dean was pissed at himself. 

Smearing a hand down his face, Dean splashed more whiskey into his glass, dropping the bottle back on the desk with a thud. 

Without looking, he could feel Sam watching him from his position across the table.

“Still no answer?”           

“Could you try again, Sam?  I dunno what else to do.  He should have called back by now,” Dean said, sipping at his glass and frowning at his phone.

“I’ve left him like three messages already, Dean.  I think Cas would have called back if he heard them.  Maybe… maybe he lost the phone.  Or maybe he never uses it and just, it might not be unusual for him to wait days before checking it,” Sam suggested.  “Could be out of money, unable to add minutes?”

Sam was making excuses and even though Dean knew they were for his benefit he didn’t want to hear them.  If Cas wasn’t used to bothering with his phone it was because no one ever called him and that was Dean’s fault.  If he lost the phone, well, that might not be Dean’s fault, but it would make finding Cas very hard.  The idea that he was out of money was a real possibility and the likelihood only added to the guilt weighing heavily in Dean’s gut.

“Maybe he doesn’t want anything to do with me since I kicked him out,” Dean offered with a humorless chuckle.  He took another taste of his drink, focusing on the burn of the cheap liquor and trying not to wonder if Cas would have permanently ditched them out of spite.   

“I don’t know, he’s been pissed at you before and still talked to us.  The way the phone doesn’t ring…  I’m a little worried, Dean.  Cas has always been able to take care of himself, but, well he’s not exactly familiar with being human.  I thought the first message I left would get him to call, since I was badmouthing you for telling him to leave.  Thought he’d appreciate the support,” Sam said with a shrug.

“So you think he’s in trouble or something?”

“Really, I don’t know what to think.  The silence is weird though, and it worries me that we have no idea how long he might have been without a phone.  Just because you called recently doesn’t mean he only now stopped using it.”

“Yeah, right,” Dean agreed, trying not to think about how the angels were looking for Cas.  “At least he got that warding tattoo.”

“I guess if we haven’t heard from him by the end of the week, we should start looking.  You drove him into a bigger town when he left, right?”

“Uh… no, not exactly.  I, um, told Cas he couldn’t stay and gave him some cash, the phone.  Shit, I didn’t know what to say, but when I offered to drive him to a motel, he said he could get there on his own.  He was mad, Sammy.  I think he was shocked I wasn’t even letting him spend one fucking night.”  Dean sighed.  “I’m such a dick.”

“Jesus, Dean.  There isn’t even a motel _in_ Lebanon.  The closest one is probably ten miles from here.”

“I _know._   Once he realized I was really kicking him out, he just wanted to leave.  He didn’t understand and I had no explanation.  I was gonna insist on driving him, but it was easier to just let Cas walk out of here.  I couldn’t go after him.”

Dean hung his head, not wanting to meet Sam’s eyes.  He was thinking about how hurt Cas had looked.  How easy it had been to crush him with a few words.

Completely ignoring the fact that Dean was a colossal scumbag, Sam tried to continue rationally.

“Well, we can still start in town.  I’m sure he passed through there.  Lebanon is small, but Cas probably didn’t know how small, so he might have gone there first.  We can flash his photo.  We know what day it was.  If we ask around, someone might remember.  You know how he makes an impression.  Do you remember what was he wearing?”

“Yeah, a hoodie.  It was red or like, maroon, maybe.  Green t-shirt, dark pants.”

“Wasn’t the shirt some light color with a collar?”

“No. Wait,” Dean hesitated, trying to recall one of the only outfits besides a suit he had seen Cas wear.  “Yeah, maybe.  I don’t know, he had on layers.  I think there was a jacket too.  Shit, Sam there isn’t even a bus station in town.  He probably hitchhiked.”

“Right, but to where?  Closest Greyhound is in Hays, I think.  That’s probably a two-hour drive.  You give him enough to bother with a bus ticket?”

“I gave him all I could,” Dean snapped, wishing it had been more.

“Okay,” Sam said, holding up his palms to Dean in an irritated ‘don’t attack me for your mistakes’ gesture.  “Hopefully we get lucky and this phone thing is a fluke.  If it is, Cas will call back soon.  If not, we’ll look for him.  Just, don’t get all depressed,” Sam finished, eyeing Dean generously filling his glass.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Dean mumbled, downing a good portion of what he poured.  Poking at his phone, Dean checked his call log and texts to make sure he hadn’t missed anything.

Sam looked like he wanted to say something else, but he spared Dean further judgement.  Instead he stood, saying good night and leaving Dean alone in the library.

Rubbing at his eyes, Dean realized he felt kind of beat, but he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep yet.  He called Cas again, wishing the phone would ring so that he at least had a _chance_ to hope Cas might pick up.  Hearing that damn message again made him want to hurl his glass across the room. 

“Cas.  Hey, man.  It’s, uh, me again.   Look, I get it if you’re pissed, but I’m getting worried about you.  So, just call or text.  Me or Sam.  I just want to know that you’re okay.  After that, well, we can do whatever you want.  For now, I need you to call me back.  Then I’ll leave you alone if uh, if that’s what you’re hinting at,” Dean paused, considered apologizing again, but decided against it and hastily hung up. 

Turning to his laptop, Dean pulled up a map of Lebanon and the surrounding area, which was comprised of a shitload of nothing.  He tried to reason which direction Cas might have started walking. 

It didn’t help matters that they were located about as centrally as possible in the country—the area even had a sign and a plaque touting that particular geographical triumph for all the drive-by tourists.  Cas could have traveled hundreds of miles in any direction by now.  Still, Dean couldn’t think like that.  One thing at a time. 

Remembering how he and Sam had tried to find Cas when he first became human, worried Dean.  They had less to go on then, but the trail was a lot fresher.  Cursing, Dean snapped his laptop shut in frustration and took the bottle with him to bed.

 

 

 

Three days, five voicemails, eleven phone calls, and half a dozen text messages later and they still hadn’t heard anything from Cas.  The most recent call Dean had made told him the voice mailbox was full.  So Dean had to assume that if Cas wasn’t deleting messages, then he probably hadn’t heard any of the ones they’d left so far, which was far from comforting.  The only positive aspect of that conclusion was that it was less likely Cas was ignoring him.      

Sam was still attempting to remain optimistic that Cas might call. “Maybe he’s waiting to get paid to buy minutes.”  The suggestion seemed unlikely to Dean, since Cas had no one to waste all his minutes on. 

Ignoring his inclination to snap at his brother, Dean printed off a picture of the still missing Jimmy Novak.  He took it with him when he went on a supply run—alcohol counted as essential provisions—and started showing it around at nearby stores and gas stations with little result.

It had been too long.  A lot of the surrounding towns in the immediate vicinity had less than 500 people, the largest one, less than 2000, so Dean had been hoping that someone might remember a stranger looking for a ride.  So far no one did. 

At a motel in nearby Smith Center, the girl behind the front desk gave him a hard time.  She was staring at the printout of Cas, smoothing one fingertip over her eyebrow, but she still asked what he looked like.

“Uh, dark hair, blue eyes, about six feet tall.  Might have seemed a little weird.  Probably wearing a red hoodie,” Dean said, wondering what name Cas might have been giving people.

“Friend or family?”

“A friend.  Well, he’s like family,” Dean corrected, unsure what that had to do with anything. 

She held the paper back out to Dean.  “Like family, huh?  Then how come you knew he was around here, but it still took you nearly five months to come asking about him?”

And wasn’t that just the million-dollar question.  Dean gaped at her. 

“Have you seen him or not?”  Dean demanded, not appreciating her attitude.  He got enough sass from Sam.

“Not.  He looks memorable though.  You can leave your number if you think he might be passing through again,” she offered and Dean scribbled it onto a notepad before taking off.

 

 

 

Back at the bunker, Dean only had to look at Sam for his brother to know what he was asking.  A slight shake of the head told Dean he hadn’t heard anything from Castiel either. 

The afternoon wore on slowly and Dean busied himself in the garage, working on giving his baby a tune-up to take his mind off Cas.  He joined Sam and Kevin in eating sandwiches for dinner before plopping in front of his laptop and searching for further distraction.

Dean was so zoned out he didn’t notice when Sam left for bed.  Once he realized he was alone, he took off his headphones, got another beer, and embarked on a fresh round of porn surfing.  Nothing seemed to peak his interest and he clicked past MILFs, DILFs, a few young GILFs, and even hentai tentacle movies.  After considering and dismissing some busty Asians and an erotic parody of Dr. Sexy that he’d seen before, he browsed through web cams and live feeds. 

Feeling a touch perturbed that he was in too much of a funk to appreciate his old standbys, Dean was debating calling it a night when he stumbled on a live stream that momentarily shocked him.  A naked man bound to a chair was covered in blood, and Dean scrambled to switch to full screen.  Before it even popped up, Dean recognized the blood as candle wax. 

“Shit, I’m losing it,” Dean murmured to no one, knocking back more beer.  He had seen stuff like that before; it must have been the lighting throwing him off.    

The dark haired guy playing submissive was alone on screen, elaborately tied to a chair with his legs spread by rope and his chest and stomach caked with red wax.  He was blindfolded and wearing one of those bit gags like a horse.  Dean was about to close out of it when another man stepped into the frame, fully clothed and wearing a ski mask.  Bound guy was clearly listening, his head whipped around as he was approached.  

Hairs prickled to life on the back of Dean’s neck, when a slight touch to the man’s shoulder had him flinching away.  He started shaking and didn’t stop. 

Dean knew that flinch.  He’d seen it before when he and Sam rescued people.  The victims couldn’t help themselves.  They were too afraid after being hurt.  It was involuntary.

Either this porn star was a fantastic actor or he was fucking terrified. 

Uneasiness settled over him.  This wasn’t something he should be watching.  Dean knew that, but couldn’t look away.  His instincts were usually dead on and this whole scene stank of too much authenticity. 

Looking closer, Dean could see bruising on the man’s biceps, but that was all he could see of his restrained arms.    A ring of faded contusions covered his neck.  His knees and shins were scraped.  Lines of scars littered the top and inside of his thighs along with some more recent looking cuts that appeared halfway healed.  It was hard to tell with the rope, but Dean thought his left ankle looked swollen.        

He was clearly not aroused. 

Monsters Dean got, but humans doing stuff like this to others just to make some money… Dean didn’t understand what was wrong with some people. 

The monster in this scenario was looking to someone off screen before he retrieved a long, blunt looking weapon that Dean figured was a broom handle.  He nudged the end of it along his captive’s jaw and trailed it down his chest, causing wax to flake off as he went.  It drew a reaction out of the other man.  His breathing sped up and he drooled around the gag onto his now heaving chest. 

 _“Got something for you, boy,”_ the weapon wielding man said, prodding with the rounded end at the submissive man’s groin and injured thighs.  _“You want me to hurt you some more?”_

With a sucking inhale and a muted choking sound, the smaller, bound man jerked his head in agreement even as his hurried breaths became more uneven.    

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his chair as the masked man whirled the rod and brought it down heavily, cracking across the tied man’s thighs.  It was a well-practiced motion that was repeated enthusiastically, causing the most recent injuries on the man’s legs to split open and bleed.  With his thighs flat against the unyielding chair, there was no way to mitigate the strength of the impacts.  Dean lowered the volume so he didn’t have to hear the loud smack and stifled reaction when the weapon collided with flesh. 

Throughout the years Dean had watched a lot of porn, and though he wasn’t strictly into people being spanked or flogged or whatever, he had certainly watched videos like that before.  He had never seen one where the recipient was struck so forcefully.  He’d never seen someone bleed.

The poor guy was getting so worked up, struggling to breathe around the obstruction in his mouth, choking and spitting and crying out when the blows connected.  

“Take out the fucking gag,” Dean snarled at the screen, worried the dark-haired guy was going to pass out.

Dean wished the video weren’t live, so he could skip to the end and see if this guy was really just in the market for lots of pain.  Based on his reactions, Dean highly doubted it, but lots of times at the end of videos that were supposed to look nonconsensual, the actors would quickly gush about how much they loved it.  If that didn’t happen, he was going to figure out how to report this shit.   

When the hits finally stopped coming, the blindfolded man didn’t realize it was over right away.  He was still shaking, his breathing labored as he anticipated more.  His thighs were red and bloody and even in the subpar lighting Dean could make out the blooming bruises.    

 _“Gonna need that mouth,”_ the douche with the ski mask said.  He stepped behind the chair and fiddled with the straps on the gag before removing it. 

“About time,” Dean murmured as the restrained man tried to take deep breaths, but only managed to cough and cringe.

Annoyed, Dean watched as the man hooked his fingers into the other guy’s now available mouth, tugging where his top and bottom lip met.  Asshole couldn’t just let him breathe for one fucking minute. 

With the volume still low, Dean couldn’t hear what was being said in the bound man’s ear, but then the blindfold was being undone.

Even with his head tipped forward, Dean could make out blue eyes beneath dark hair. 

Icy numbness and foreboding spread through Dean with the sharp recognition.   He _knew_ those eyes.  A chill descended over his entire body as goosebumps sprang up on his arms.

It _couldn’t_ be.   

Trying to reconcile what he was seeing with what his mind was saying, Dean stared, dumbfounded. 

He didn’t need the man to yank the guy back by the hair to know that it was Cas.

It was Cas. 

The guy was Cas.

How the—

“Cas?”

With a hand on his forehead, Dean was leaning entirely too close to the screen, eyes wide, when the feed was cut off. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a prompt. Descriptions like 'broken' and 'happy ending' were used. I'll do my best.
> 
>  
> 
> http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/110195.html?thread=41177203#t41177203


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** This is a bad chapter for Cas and there are more coming. So this probably isn't a great story for people with triggers. I tried to tag everything, so please check them out if that's a concern. Feel free to message me on tumblr if you have any questions. [My Tumblr](http://rosewhipped22.tumblr.com)

 

 

Dean stared.

The numb feeling was preventing his brain from working properly.

“Cas?” Dean said, staring blankly at where Cas had been.

He was gone. 

Cas was there and now he was just _gone_.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Dean rushed to exit full-screen so he could see why the hell he had lost the video.  There were words on the screen and Dean read them over and over, trying to comprehend what was happening. 

He had to pay.  Money.  He needed money to see more. 

Standing up so quickly he knocked his chair over, Dean dug in his pocket for his wallet and came up empty.

Where the hell was it? 

Tearing through the bunker, Dean flat out ran to his room, snatching up the wallet and careening back down the hall. 

Scrambling to enter his credit card information, Dean cursed when he came up a number short and had to start over.  He needed to get back to Cas. 

Forcing himself to slow down, Dean filled out the bullshit form to gain access back into the show.  There were different optional payment amounts if you wanted to choose what was done to Cas, but none were available.  Others had already paid to call the shots for this session and decide what happened.  Dean just needed to watch and was relieved that he still could. 

The scene had changed while Dean was locked out. 

Cas—and it was most definitely Cas—was still tied to the chair, but the chair had been lifted onto a platform and laid backwards so that Cas was essentially on his back, arms crushed under the chair with his head hanging off the side.  The same asshole from earlier was standing over him with his pants undone and his dick out, dragging his balls over Cas’s face.  Cas was trying to lick them when they were near his mouth. 

Metal clamps had been added in a line across Cas’s shoulders.  There was a bruise around one of his eyes, but considering it’s yellow and purple discoloration, Dean didn’t think it was new.

There was a second masked guy on the scene, naked and fucking Cas awkwardly through a hole in the bottom of the chair.  Unlike the other guy, this one was wearing a condom.  With one large hand he was squeezing Cas’s junk in a vice like grip.    

Dean almost fell over trying to sit on nothing. 

Kicking his fallen chair out of the way, Dean pulled the nearest one closer and sat down heavily.  Pressing his eyes into his palms, Dean cursed before sliding his hands lower and peeking through his fingers at the horror before him.  

Dean realized that Cas had been unrecognizable to him at first because his hair was longer and he seemed a lot skinnier than he had been when April had him tied to a chair.  And because in a million fucking years Dean wouldn’t have ever expected to see Cas treated like this.  

With the current view, Dean could make out the warding tattoo on Castiel’s side, but it was mainly hidden, covered in wax.  The patches of skin Dean could see appeared dark and bruised.

He looked exhausted.

Both men were fucking Cas roughly now and Dean had never felt so helpless.  This was happening _now_.  Right now, but Dean didn’t have a clue where and there wasn’t a single thing he could do to stop it. 

Dean tried to take in the room, hoping for some clue as to where Cas was, but the walls were bare.  The floor looked to be cement.  One section was stained, like a puddle of blood had dried there and been poorly scrubbed away.         

The men both pulled out knives and Dean lifted his head from his hands, staring at the screen in terror.  Fear clutched at his wildly beating heart, as the men trailed the points across Castiel’s skin.  One guy was pressing harder than the other and blood beaded up and trickled down Castiel’s arm.   

Then they were cutting through his restraints, carelessly slicing his flesh in the process.  Castiel didn’t react too much and Dean realized he was trying to hold still.  Dean had the volume dialed so low that he didn’t know if the movements of Cas’s mouth were laced with sounds of pain or not.  He was kind of afraid to turn it up. 

Cas’s legs were freed first and Dean had been correct about his ankle.  It was swollen and covered in dark bruising.  The ropes must have been cutting off circulation, because the color of Cas’s foot seemed to be evening out now that he was free.

The man near Castiel’s head was digging his knife under the clamps on his shoulders one by one and prying them off, leaving irritated and bloody marks in his wake.  Castiel hunched his shoulders, biting his lip and turning his head away from the side being worked on. 

Hesitantly, Dean increased the volume as they cut Castiel the rest of the way off the chair.  They dragged him partly off the platform before releasing him, so that one of the first things Dean heard was Cas’s head and back smacking onto the concrete.  Dean winced.

Part of Dean had been holding out hope that once Cas was free he would fight back.  So when one of the men said, _“Get over here for your treat, bitch,”_ and Cas crawled over to them, Dean’s heart fucking broke. 

 _“You want a taste, angel?”_   The man had a grip on Cas’s hair, holding him off so he could humiliate him further.

_“Yes, please, sir. Please.”_

Dean covered his eyes, because Cas didn’t fucking beg.

_“You hungry for cock?  What do you say, whore?”_

_“I—I’m a cock hungry slut, sir.  Please.”_

Then Cas was licking and sucking and Dean had to walk away from the computer and collect the bottle of whiskey. He needed a real drink. 

Dean was still able to hear what was happening.  He took a deep breath, a long pull on the bottle, and braced himself before he sat down again.

Deep-throating in porn had always been an act Dean enjoyed and a little consensual face fucking thrown into the mix could be hot, but there was nothing sexy about the dominant display he was currently watching.

Dean tried to pay attention to the men’s faces when they were in view.  The original guy had dark eyes and a decent sized mole above his lip.  The newcomer was a touch shorter and had a faint mustache goatee combo. 

It wasn’t until the second guy was forcing himself ruthlessly down Cas’s throat that he gagged significantly.  Wrenching himself away, Castiel flung his hands forward to catch himself as he hunched over and dry-heaved.  The movements looked painful and Cas grimaced through his coughing and clutched at his side. 

The asshole in front of him immediately raised his boot over Cas’s hand and stomped.  Cas yelped in between coughing and the man dug in with his heel.  Seizing Cas’s hair again, the guy kept his hand pinned to the floor while he continued fucking his face at an awkward angle.

At the end of it, Castiel was saying _thank you_ , but Dean was just relieved that both bastards were finished so that this shit show could finally be over. 

Only it wasn’t.

_“Ask me to hurt you again.”_

Castiel was sitting back on his heels.  He wet his lips, eyes on the floor, hesitating long enough that the guy talking clobbered him.

_“Ask me.”_

Righting himself, Cas teetered before responding.

_“P—please, hurt me, sir.”_

_“Be my fucking pleasure, angel,”_ the guy sneered, grabbing Castiel’s upper arm and hauling him a few steps away only to knock him down again. 

The men were holding him down and securing a metal collar around his neck.  Cas started with the trembling again as they fixed the attached chain to a thick ring bolted to the floor.  His head was only a few inches from where he was anchored since the chain was very short. 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean spat, snatching up his long forgotten beer and chucking it across the room.

He could finally see Castiel’s back properly and it was a fucking wreck.  A mass of dark purplish skin was curling around from his side.  Yellowing bruises were layered with an unmeasurable mess of different sized scars and lacerations in various stages of healing.  Some were seeping blood and they were either very recent or had just torn open during the rough treatment. 

Temporarily distracted by Castiel’s abysmal condition, Dean watched as his breathing picked up and his shoulders shook.  It wasn’t until Cas was shaking his head and mumbling an incessant string of _please_ that Dean realized the original guy was alone with Cas and holding a Taser. 

Dean made it his business to know about weapons.  A Taser was useful to incapacitate someone when fired from a distance.  The current made your muscles contract and generally knocked the target flat on his ass.  When it was jabbed directly to the skin and held there, like this dickwad was doing to Cas, the only purpose was to cause a shit ton of pain. 

As Cas screamed and thrashed and failed to escape, Dean couldn’t watch.  He turned his head, distancing himself further by covering his eyes with his hand.  Listening to Cas’s broken sobs and desperate gasps with only _please_ falling from his lips but never a _no,_ had Dean grasping tightly at his hair without noticing.  Only after Castiel’s auditory agony had subsided did Dean release his grip, realizing his scalp was sore.   

Risking a glance at the screen, Dean’s tentative hope that Cas was finished for the night was demolished as the fucker tormenting him knelt over his weak and trembling figure with a plastic bag.

Dean leapt out of his seat in alarm, clutching at the sides of the monitor and leaning closer. 

The bag was over his head. 

Cas was flailing and scrambling, clawing at the bag and the man’s hands.

“No! No, no, Cas! No,” Dean yelled, crashing to his knees and dragging the laptop down with him.

Cas couldn’t breathe.  He was going to suffocate right in front of Dean, dying as sick entertainment for everyone watching.

“Fuck, no!”

The screen blurred and Dean failed to notice the wetness falling from his cheeks to the keyboard.  

Clear plastic clung to Castiel’s face and his movements slowed and then stopped completely as he lost consciousness. 

“Cas,” Dean rasped, rubbing roughly at his eyes and touching the screen.

Fucking finally, the man tore the bag off and dropped a limp Castiel the rest of the way to the ground.  Dean could see the slow rise and fall of his chest and it marginally calmed his own racing heartbeat. 

That was the end of the video.  

Dean sat numbly on the floor. 

After a few minutes, his staring turned into seeing. 

There was a banner proclaiming that there would be another live stream with the ‘blue-eyed angel’ in three days.  An instant chat window Dean hadn’t bothered paying attention to before was emptying of anonymous guests and a few logged in users who had evidently been making comments on the stream as it aired. 

Reading through some of the feedback had Dean seething and he slammed his fist into the floor.  People were actually getting off on this shit.  Dean wondered if any of them had been the ones paying to decide what happened to Cas. 

It was then he noticed the back-log of videos.  More footage of Cas.  Lots of past sessions.  There were nearly four dozen others he could pay to watch with him.  The oldest one was dated about two weeks after Dean had thrown his friend out.  Christ, that meant Cas had been with these people for… five months!  150 days of this shit. 

Dean felt like he was going to be sick.

Without moving from the floor, Dean felt around for the bottle on the table above him.  His credit card was nearby and Dean plucked it up, quickly buying the videos at one package price before he lost his nerve.  After downing a considerable amount of liquor in a few short moments, Dean started at the beginning. 

The first video had his Cas. 

He looked much more like himself, healthier and less weary.  Only mildly battered, Castiel was gagged, but wonderfully resistant, struggling and fighting when he could and generally being uncooperative.  He paid for his defiance in blood and abuse and humiliation.  It was difficult to watch Castiel being hurt, but it wasn’t as hard to stomach as the live footage he had just seen with Cas so broken and submissive.

In the second video, two men hurt Cas with his own angel blade, slicing his chest and his thighs and piercing his arm.  Cas was angry and trying to hide the pain he was in, mustering up a formidable glare to throw back at the men.  It was undercut with fear though and nothing compared to the palpable intensity of the past fierceness Dean had seen in the angel.  Now he was just a man, injured and afraid, but putting on a brave face.  His attitude only goaded them into treating him worse.

Watching in horror, Dean cringed while they worked impatient fingers inside of Cas, opening him up until they could shove the hilt of his blade into his ass.  The man gripping it called it a ‘silver dagger’ and Cas flushed crimson with shame as he was fucked with the angelic weapon.  His blushing amused the men further.  One of them called him angel and they both laughed at the surprised reaction it got them.       

Dean worked his way through the videos, drinking steadily as he witnessed Castiel’s dwindling resolve.  If anything the earlier sequences were more vicious and violent, focused much more on inflicting pain and only granting a reprieve when Castiel’s dogged refusals reluctantly crumbled.  The sessions were long and a few started with Cas already bleeding and worn-out.  Skipping forward about 20 seconds at a time, Dean hastened to get through the videos.

The men liked to play mind games with Cas.  They’d repeatedly propose either or options for hurting him which Castiel refused to choose between.  When he didn’t make a decision between the awful suggestions he was forced to suffer through both. 

Eventually in one video, when Cas was bleeding from his chest and hairline, unable to push himself up off the floor for the sixth time, because his arms were shaking too much, he caved.  Cas chose to give blow jobs rather than receive burns from a blow torch.  They burnt his forearm afterwards anyway.     

As Cas’s inclination to fight back waned, Dean felt like he was losing hope right along with him.  Each session was a couple days apart from the last one, but Cas was almost always sporting new injuries that hadn’t been obviously inflicted in the previous recording.  Dean hated to think about what he went through in the interim time. 

As brave as Cas was, everyone had their limits, and Dean had never wanted to see Cas reach his. 

On top of injuries, Dean could see Cas was sleep deprived and starting to lose weight.  Though, he still didn’t look as painfully skinny as Dean knew he currently was. 

When Dean realized he’d been watching Castiel’s deterioration for hours and wasn’t even half-way through the material, he slumped further to the floor, ignoring how uncomfortable he was.  He didn’t deserve to get up off the hard, cold wood.  Swallowing the last of the bottle, Dean laid his head down and continued watching Castiel’s nightmare.   

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to edit this a final time, but I have a killer headache/congestion, so feel free to point out mistakes. Feel free to do it in any chapter really. I really need to take some time to review comma rules, I think. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and all the kudos and bookmarks/subscriptions so far! 
> 
> You are the best. XD


	3. Chapter 3

Loud knocking on his door roused Sam.  He hadn’t meant to fall asleep with his headphones on.  The security of the bunker was really enabling him to develop some bad habits.  Swinging his legs off the side of his bed, he sat up, rubbing his eyes.

“Yeah?”

Kevin opened the door about a foot, leaning on the knob.

“Hey.  Can you get Dean out of the library?  He’s passed out under the table.”

“What?”

Confused, Sam stared at Kevin, who shrugged. 

“Yeah, yeah, okay.  Be right there,” Sam promised as he stood to get dressed.

 

Just as Kevin had said, Dean was sprawled with his laptop and an empty bottle of Jack under one of the tables in the library.  It smelled like beer when Sam walked in and he spotted a shattered bottle where Dean had thrown it against the wall.  Righting a fallen chair, Sam stood over Dean and nudged him in the leg with his foot.

“Dean.”

He got a groan.

“Dean.  Dean, get up.  You decide to switch bedrooms?” 

“Ugghh, guess so.  Wha’ time s’it?”

“Almost seven.  What the hell happened?”

Sitting up in one sudden movement, Dean smacked his head on the table. 

“Son of a bitch.”

Sam sighed, waiting as Dean cursed and grumbled and maneuvered from under the table.  When he made to help him, Dean batted his hand away.  So Sam scooped up the laptop and then the empty bottle, placing them both on the table. 

Hesitating, Sam considered his options as Dean sat next to the laptop and rubbed at his eyes, which were bloodshot.  He didn’t like to needle his brother too much about his drinking since it usually resulted in a fight.  Still…

“You were only drinking beer when I went to bed.  Any particular reason you, apparently, chucked that bottle and went for something stronger?”

Pulling his hands away from his face, Dean sighed. 

“Sam, it’s Cas.”

“What?  Did he call?  What did he say?” Sam asked, worried that Dean’s fear that Castiel wanted nothing to do with him was confirmed.  It would help explain this reaction.

Dean laughed hollowly and shook his head. 

“No, he didn’t call.  He can’t.”

“Okay.  So, then what are you talking about? Why were you on the floor?”

“Just,” Dean waved a hand, gesturing that Sam should cease the interrogation. “Just, sit down.  I gotta show you something.”

Turning to his laptop, Dean plugged the power cord back in and waited for it to load.  Kevin wandered in eating a banana and looking faintly annoyed, but he put a glass of water in front of Dean. 

Frowning between the two of them, Kevin glanced at Dean’s laptop.

“Did you break that last night?  The hinge for the screen looks funky.”

Sam looked at it too and saw that Kevin was right.  It was all loose, like Dean had been carrying it by the monitor, but Dean just huffed and mumbled that it was fine. 

“Give us a few minutes, will ya, Kev.  I need to talk to Sam.”

Sighing dramatically, Kevin agreed.  “I’ll be in my room, but let me know when you’re done.”

“Yep,” Dean nodded, once again distracted by the computer. 

It had Sam’s attention too, because Dean was on some porn site.  While that wasn’t unusual at all, he didn’t seem to be closing out of it.  It looked like he was logging in. 

“Dean?”

“Hold on,” Dean muttered, queuing up what looked like a bondage video and skipping to what was undoubtedly the good part.  There were two guys on the screen.  One was naked, tied to a chair, and covered in candle wax. 

“Um…  did you freak out because you watched gay porn?”

“ _Sam_.”

“…because you _accidentally_ watched gay porn?”

“That’s not—just shut up and watch,” Dean said, turning the laptop towards Sam and pressing play. 

It was the middle of what appeared to be a BDSM scene with some scrawny guy blindfolded and gagged, while the other man beat his legs with a wooden staff.  It really wasn’t what he was into.  Sam didn’t think Dean liked this kind of thing either—it looked pretty brutal.  Definitely not fun sex, but even if it _was_ a favorite of Dean’s, there was no reason for him to be showing it to Sam.  Completely unnecessary overshare.

Dean was staring at Sam expectantly while he watched, and Sam just wasn’t getting it.

“Dean, I don’t—why are we watching this?”  Sam asked uncomfortably as the man being dominated choked on his gag.

“Well, I feel like less of an asshole for not recognizing him now,” Dean said, tilting his head toward the screen when Sam looked at him for answers.

“Not recognizing…” Sam turned back to the two men again.  Really looking as the gag was removed from the smaller man’s mouth.  He did look sort of—

Oh, no.  Not possible.

“Is that—but, how…” Sam trailed off as the blindfold was removed and he got visual confirmation that it was Castiel.

“Holy shit.”

Dean wordlessly skipped ahead in the video, playing snippets of the horrifying abuse their friend was going through.  When Cas was being relentlessly tortured with a stun gun, Sam knew he had seen enough.

“Turn it off.”

“You don’t want to see the grand finale where they put a fucking bag over his head?” Dean snarled as he paused it. 

Sam froze. 

Dean drank himself stupid because Cas was dead. 

He leaned forward in disbelief, trying to catch Dean’s eye.

“He—Cas.  Is he…?”

“He’s alive,” Dean added hastily.

“Jesus Christ, Dean, don’t _do_ that.  You scared the shit out of me.”

Sam ran his fingers through his hair, releasing the ends and covering his mouth.  He barely heard Dean’s apology.  Castiel was alive, for now at least.  The poor guy was a wreck.  He looked haggard and had clearly lost a lot of weight. 

“I understand the drinking,” Sam offered, realizing he could use one himself despite the early hour.

“Oh, yeah and there’s more.  That horror story?  Filmed last night.  I watched it.  _Live_.”  Sam grimaced.  He certainly didn’t envy that experience.  “There are 41 _other_ videos.  All with Cas.  Same sort of shit.  The oldest one is from like, nearly five months ago.”

That was not good news.  Cas had been human for all of five minutes and Sam had hoped the reaper business would be the end of his bad luck.  Angelic soldier or not, there was no way he was prepared for the avalanche of feelings and sensations that would accompany this level of torment.  Sam shut his mouth, realizing how terrible Dean looked.

“How many did you watch?”

Shaking his head, Dean stared at his hands. 

“I was watching for hours, Sam.  Even with skipping through parts, the earlier ones, they’re not short.  Fucking—I didn't even make it halfway.  It’s uh, it’s not, uh…”  Dean stammered and sighed, struggling with what he had seen.

“I know you watch a lot of porn, Dean, but was this really all that was left?” 

“Heh, yeah, guess so,” Dean agreed, clinging to the slight topic change.

It wasn’t the best time for a joke, but if their positions were reversed, it’s when Dean would have made one.  Without a doubt, Dean was blaming himself for what had happened to Cas.  Distraction seemed like the decent thing to do for his brother.  Besides, one of them had to keep it together and Dean had clearly already called dibs on falling apart over this.

 “Do you have any idea how _lucky_ you are that you found this?”

“That’s one word for it.”

“I’m serious, Dean.  I mean, it’s terrible, but this gives us _something_.  We’ll find him.  Get him the hell out of there.”

Dean nodded at the suggestion of a plan.  A course of action was always what Dean needed to sink his teeth into to feel useful. 

“Where do we start?”

“Well, you reek, so go start with a shower.  Take some pain killers.  I’ll make the coffee.”

Sam could see the objection on Dean’s tongue and cut him off. 

“It’ll take all of ten minutes.”

That rationality did nothing to soften Dean’s stubbornness, so Sam tried a different tactic.

“I know that it’s Cas and you want to find him.  Good.  So do I.  But you breaking apart isn’t going to work, Dean.  So avoid drinking yourself into oblivion.  Take time to take care of yourself,” Sam said.  Dean made a face, but Sam spoke over his reply.  “To sum up: get your shit together and _help_ me.”     

Sam was actually kind of impressed that Dean gave in so easily. 

 

After starting the coffee, Sam went to retrieve Kevin.  It hadn’t been Sam’s plan to make breakfast, but when he considered the monumental task in front of them (and Dean’s likely hangover) it seemed like a valid decision.  Instead of letting Kevin busy himself with the angel tablet, Sam asked him to stay in the kitchen and he started trying to explain the situation as he made Dean a cheese omelet.   

“So, Dean was upset last night, because he found out that some bad people have Cas.  We still don’t know where he is, but he’s in pretty rough shape.  We’ve got to help him and it’s an all hands on deck situation,” Sam started, chopping some vegetables for his own omelet.

“You want one of these?”  Sam indicated the pan where Dean’s eggs were cooking.

“Sure,” Kevin agreed, moving to get out some plates.  “I’m happy to help you guys, Sam, but take off the kid gloves for once.  You want me to believe that Dean literally drank himself under a table because ‘bad people’ have Cas?  What does that even mean?”     

Serving up the first omelet to Kevin since Dean wasn’t back yet, Sam wondered how he could explain it to him without the disturbing visual aids. 

“Well, we have no idea who the ‘bad people’ are, but Dean found a collection of footage online, featuring Cas.  They’re hurting him.  Physical and sexual abuse, well, torture really, in some ways—”

“Oh.  Wow.  No wonder Dean was a wreck,” Kevin said, still standing and holding the plate of eggs in front of him.

“Yeah, I only saw parts of one video and it was—Cas wasn’t doing too well.  Evidently, he’s been with these people for like, five months and it’s uh, taking its toll,” Sam said grimly before adding, “Sit down and eat.”

“You trying to ruin everyone’s appetite, Sam?”  Dean asked as he appeared in the kitchen and bee-lined for the coffee. 

“Just catching Kevin up.”

“Actually, I was referring to the hair net I got you that you refuse to wear.”

Dean grinned at him, and Sam could tell it was a little forced.

“You wanna make your own omelet,” Sam threatened, letting Dean hide behind his jokes.  At least he had collected himself enough that he seemed ready to get to work. 

“I’ll take my chances.” 

 

       

 

Their first objective was locating Cas.  With that goal in mind they tackled the problem from three directions.  Dean was in charge of phones.  Determining which, of the several they owned, he had given to Castiel and then tracking the GPS on it. 

Kevin was searching for a viable tracking spell amongst the seemingly unending data the Men of Letters had compiled.  Years ago Ruby had performed one to help him find Dean, but the only part of that Sam remembered was that they lit a map on fire.  If they were lucky, there would be information on something similarly useful hidden within the detailed journals and extensive texts of the bunker. 

Cas knew Enochian tracking spells, well ones for angels at least, and Sam mentioned that to Kevin.  The prophet seemed a bit antsy trying to focus on something that wasn’t the angel tablet and he switched between the two tasks, reasoning it was just as likely they’d find a tracking spell there.  Sam doubted that an angel specific spell would work on Castiel still, but he wasn’t going to scold Kevin for taking breaks.  For all he knew, the translating of the tablet was like a pull Kevin couldn’t resist.   

Sam was trying his hand at hacking. 

It wasn’t going well. 

Normally, he was pretty successful at gaining access to minimally secured surveillance footage or reverse tracking I.P. addresses.  Ignoring _how_ Dean had arrived at a website which was apparently part of the so called ‘deep web,’ Sam was quickly being forced to accept that his hacking know-how wasn’t quite up to snuff in this instance.  The website was set-up by people who knew that what they were doing was illegal and they wanted to keep it that way.

At some point Dean must have downloaded the necessary Tor software browser to gain access to all these cloaked websites that ended in .onion instead of .com.  Here people could sell guns, drugs, passports, whatever, with anonymity in the relative open.  While on some level it really impressed Sam that Dean knew enough to seek out websites that a traditional search engine couldn’t direct him to, it wasn’t good news for Cas.  Everything was unregulated and the whole point was that the origin of a user’s internet connection was hidden.      

This type of heavy-duty encryption meant it was going to be next to impossible to figure out where Cas was from this route.  Sam really wished Charlie weren’t in Oz.  If Sam was decent at playing Guitar Hero, then Charlie was Jimi Hendrix. 

Fortunately, Dean had better luck with the phone.  By the end of the day, they knew that Castiel’s phone was somewhere in Grand Junction, Colorado.  Over 500 miles away.  Dean had wanted to leave immediately, but Sam had convinced him to wait until morning, hoping Dean would get some sleep first. 

So far, Dean had been packing the car in an effort to ensure they left bright and early.  No one mentioned that knowing the location of the phone didn’t necessarily mean that Cas would be with it. 

Currently, Sam was pretending to be looking for tracking spells with Kevin, but he was actually searching for a way to contact Charlie in Oz.  If it were possible to get a message to her, then he hoped that she might consider coming back to help them.  Sam was afraid to tell Dean how far out of his depth he was. 

Across the table, Dean was watching his laptop, earbuds in, with a dark expression twisting his features.  Sam just didn’t understand.  They already knew Castiel was suffering.  There was no need for Dean to insist on torturing himself too. 

“You’re watching again,” he said, but Dean didn’t hear him. 

“Dean.” 

Sam flicked a pen in his direction. 

“What?” Dean demanded, tugging the earbuds out and looking irritated at the interruption.

“I know you’re back on that site.  Give it a rest.  I kind of understand watching the live stuff, but why bother with what already happened.  You know it’s just going to upset you,” Sam reasoned.

“I have to watch, Sam.  What if he’s not making them enough money?  What happens then?  They move on to someone else and Cas, what, gets sold?  They kill him?  They’re not gonna just let him go.  If he disappears from the videos… fuck, we might never find him.  And I have to watch the old stuff too.  I know it’s not likely, but there could be clues, something that gives us information, something that might lead to his location.”

Dean had been nursing the same drink for a while and he finally finished it, discontentedly examining the bottom of the glass like he might have missed some. 

The idea of keeping an eye out for pertinent information in the videos made sense, though the chances were slim, but as for Castiel not generating enough interest or money for these assholes, well, Sam knew that worry was unwarranted.

“Have you noticed the view count on his videos, Dean?  For what they’ve got on this website, he’s the most popular.”

Dean made a noncommittal noise and turned back to the laptop.

“Go try and sleep, Dean.  You didn’t get much last night.  No way can you drive in the morning if you don’t get at least a couple of hours.”

“I can’t just ‘go sleep’, Sam.  It’s my fault Cas is in this mess and I can’t go relax or take it easy or forget about it while he’s still out there dealing with this shit.  I can’t just sit around doing nothing.  If you want to leave tonight, right now, then I’ll let you drive and I’ll try to sleep in the car.  It’s the only way I might calm down enough to sleep, but I have to be doing something.”

Sensing he might not win this argument, Sam sighed.

“Dean.”

“No, Sam.  Because the video I’m watching right now?  It looks like they’ve got Cas drugged out of his mind.  And one of the perks of stopping the Apocalypse was supposed to be that I didn’t have to see Cas human and stoned, but here we are anyway.”

“What are you even talk—”

“Just, can we go? Now. Please?”

Sam looked down at the large tome with the ancient and diaphanous pages he had been leafing through.  Though he didn’t have much faith that Castiel would be with his phone, it was probably a better lead than hoping he could contact Charlie, convince her to come back, and that she would be successful in helping them. 

“Yeah, fine.  You’re right.  Let’s go.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I briefly wrote about the 'deep web' in this chapter and while I've read that it's a real thing, my superficial comprehension regarding it is really basic. So if you know more about that topic, my apologies for any unintentional misrepresenting. If, like myself, you're unfamiliar, I think it's safe to say that it's a potentially scary place for people who know what they're doing on a computer. In my mind, I think Dean was first shown how to get there by Charlie in relation to another case and then put that knowledge towards looking for porn. 
> 
> Also, later I'm going to pretend to know things about hacking too, but it's all lies. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

 

Dean woke up in the car early in the morning.  It was still dark out and he could hear Sam snoring in the front.  They were pulled over in an empty parking lot of a long closed supermarket.  He didn’t bother being too quiet as he extracted himself from the car.  He was going to have to wake Sam anyway. 

A fox disappeared into a line of shrubbery at the edge of the asphalt as Dean stretched his limbs and rubbed sleep from his eyes.    The driver’s door was locked and Dean opened the back one again, telling Sam to get out or move over as he reached in to unlock the front.  Sam grumbled, but sat up, leaning heavily into the passenger door and rearranging the jacket he had been using as a pillow.

“Where are we?”

Sam didn’t answer and Dean smacked him in the shoulder. 

“Sam.”

Without opening his eyes, Sam mumbled about needing to get back on I-70, which was good enough for Dean.  He was stopping for coffee first anyway and could confirm exactly where they were.

 

 

Caffeine acquired, Dean got them back on track, pleased when he realized his unconscious copilot had gotten them about halfway to their destination. Being back on the road with a purpose helped calm the stadium sized lump of anxiety that had been weighing Dean down.  Luckily, traffic was non-existent at this hour and Dean sped along in the dark and the silence, wondering if Cas was sleeping right now. 

Even for the sickening number of videos that had been recorded so far, it was the time that wasn’t being documented that concerned Dean.  Well, the whole mess had him worried, but he liked to know what he was up against.  Those interim hours made up the majority of time Cas was being held captive and potentially exposed to all manner of unsavory shit.  Anything could be happening to him.  Dean just didn’t know if they’d make the most money posting the worst things online or if it would be more profitable to charge people for private sessions.

It seemed like too much to hope they left Cas alone off camera.

Sam snoozed most of the way to Grand Junction.  They rushed through breakfast and Dean barely tasted what he was eating.  Typically, Dean didn’t have such a physical response when Sam or Cas were in trouble, but knowing the specifics of what Cas was going through had Dean’s appetite at an all-time low.  Everything was overpowered by a sense of urgency to fix his mistake and get Cas to safety. 

As an angel Cas had been formidable, but he’d barely enrolled in How to Human 101 and now he’d already been through more than enough shit to last a lifetime.

Dean wanted to split up to cover more ground, but Sam shot down that idea. 

“If Cas is here, Dean, and you figure out where he is first, I’m having trouble believing you’d wait for me to catch up.  So let’s be smart about this.  You know those guys outnumber us.”

It was a thin argument.  Dean didn’t care about being outnumbered.  That was old news.  They weren’t sure how many men they’d have to deal with in a rescue attempt.  So far there had been at least four different guys in the videos.  Plus, whoever was on camera detail.  Possibly others.  The first guy Dean had seen, the one with the mole, was in all the videos so far and Dean had to assume he was in charge.

“You hearing me, Dean?  Let’s stick together on this one.” 

“Yeah, fine.”

They hadn’t been able to pinpoint the phone’s location further than the frustratingly broad range of the entire city.  Dean had gotten access to the call history and it wasn’t encouraging.  The only incoming calls were from him and Sam.  Cas hadn’t made any outgoing calls.  Not one.  

Uncertain where to begin, they started with the cheapest motels, but the city wasn’t exactly small.  There were more than a dozen on their lists.  The first was just off the highway and at $38 bucks a night it was definitely a contender. 

It was impossible to know what name Cas had been using.  When he had first been on his own as a human he had gone by Clarence.  So they offered that name along with ‘Castiel’ to the first employee they talked to at the Bronco Inn, suggesting he might also have used a different alias.  Sam supplied the last name Winchester at the same time Dean said Smith. 

Even with a fairly concrete timeframe of _when_ Cas might have been there, the guy working the front desk took his time.  They were talking about five months ago, after all.  He spent a whole minute starring at Jimmy’s photo before he gave a confident “no.”

Their luck didn’t improve as the day wore on.  No one had seen Cas, but they all wanted to know why the FBI was looking for him. 

Eventually, Sam was the one who mentioned dinner. 

Dean knew he should be hungry, but it felt like too much effort to care about where they ate.  He told Sam to pick the place, so they went to some market café that sold overpriced pints of organic strawberries, a variety of microbrews, and homemade salads with odd-sounding ingredients Dean suspected might be made up. 

He was staring at a large, refrigerated display of dozens of different cheeses.  Off the top of his head, Dean could only come up with like, six cheeses that he’d eaten in his entire life and he didn’t see any of them.  Anything more than six seemed like overkill.  Plus, the prices were outrageous.

“You buying cheese?”

Dean glared at Sam, because of course he wasn’t buying a chunk of _Nettle_ _cheese_.  He was pretty sure nettles were itchy as hell. 

Sam was holding a green grocery basket and giving Dean a look of concern that he didn’t have time for.

“Can we go?  Looks like you got plenty in there.”

“Aren’t you going to get anything?”

“I dunno what to pick.  I’m not hungry.  Just hurry up, I’ll be waiting out front.”

It only took Sam ten more minutes to get out to the car, but Dean drove off as soon as his ass hit the seat.  Dean realized it had been almost 24 hours since he’d been on the website.  Even though the next live streaming wasn’t scheduled until tomorrow night, Dean was feeling antsy.  They had gotten nowhere today.

When they got to their motel room, Dean turned on his laptop right away.  After a couple minutes, Sam sat down across from him.

“I got you lasagna, a cup of shrimp corn chowder soup, and some pico de gallo with homemade tortilla chips I thought we could share,” Sam said, unpacking the food and pushing containers towards Dean.

“Yeah, okay.  I’ll try it.”

Dean didn’t bother looking up.  He knew Sam was probably making his patented, concerned puppy eyes face.  He’d eat something in a bit, once he made sure—

“What the hell, Sam!?”

He’d snapped the laptop shut almost catching Dean’s fingers. 

“We didn’t eat lunch.  You barely ate breakfast.  I know you’re not about to starve, but eat something _now_.  You know once you get back on that website it’ll really kill your appetite.”

“Whatever, man.”

Dean took up one of the plastic forks and opened the lasagna.  If Sam wanted him to eat, he would. 

He started with the beer.  It was called Yeti Imperial Stout and Dean like it.  Strong on the hop flavor, but good.  He figured Sam picked it based on the name.  Dean scarfed the lasagna, which was hot and had the appropriate type and amount of cheeses.  Once Dean started eating, he did feel hungry and managed to finish the soup and more than his fair share of tortilla chips.  Sam was too busy eating something leafy to complain about Dean hogging all the fancily named salsa.

Once he was full, Dean was less eager to go online.  Sam was right, he would just feel like shit watching Cas suffer.  He tried to avoid it for a while, fussing about the room. 

There was an old school phone book in one of the drawers and Dean flipped through it, looking for the motels.  Some of the ones in it weren’t even listed in the web search they’d done earlier.  Well, that’s what happens when you’re too cheap to cough up money for a website.  Dean imagined they were exactly the type of shitholes he and Sam frequented.

Dean tore the page out so he could add them to the list they still had to visit tomorrow.  After motels he was thinking they’d hit the community food bank and the homeless shelter.  If Cas was here sometime during the first two weeks after he left, Dean figured he hadn’t burned through all his money yet.  Of course, the best way to make the money last would be to stay somewhere free like that.  Dean mentally rearranged tomorrow’s itinerary, slotting the shelter at the top of his list.

Unable to avoid it any longer, Dean got another beer and settled back in front of his laptop.         

As soon as he got back to the videos of Cas, there was a scrolling notification indicating that a live stream would begin in about 90 minutes.  No explanation was offered for the day early _show_ —which is evidently what holding someone captive and torturing them is called when you film it. 

Dean felt unprepared.  Watching live before had been terrifying. 

Since then, he had started with the earliest videos, watching Cas’s dismal decline as it occurred.  It would be jarring to jump into the present where Cas was looking and behaving so much worse.  But Dean knew he wouldn’t be able to resist.  He had to know what was currently happening to Cas. 

To help prepare himself, Dean tentatively skipped a handful of videos. Selecting one that was less than a month old, he put in his ear buds and kept the volume low.  He knew Sam was staring at him and he ignored it. 

Cas was almost always bound or tethered in some way.  This round of pain was no exception and he was strung up by his wrists from a ceiling Dean couldn’t see.  His right leg was bent at the knee with his ankle tied to his thigh, leaving him only the front part of his free foot to balance on the floor like some uncoordinated flamingo. 

The ever changing kaleidoscope of marks on Cas’s body was clearly evident and the two men on either side of him started to make additions.  For some reason they had what looked like a pair of snug fitting safety goggles on Cas.  Generally, they avoided injuring his face, so Dean felt concerned that he was wearing eye protection.

It took Dean longer than he’d like to admit to realize that the goggles were some sort of one-way blindfold.  Cas wasn’t really focusing on anything.  His eyes were almost continually darting around and he couldn’t seem to anticipate where the hits were coming from. As far as Dean could tell the entire purpose was so the men and those watching could still see Castiel’s eyes as they hurt him. 

Blows from the large wooden paddle and the thin riding crop landed on all parts of Cas and caused him to slowly revolve like a music box ballerina.  The men grabbed and prodded at Cas’s flesh, calling him degrading names. 

In an earlier video, Cas had suddenly appeared with his nipples pierced.  It had pissed Dean off, but he figured little girls got their ears pierced, so pain wise it wasn’t a huge concern.  Now the men were tugging roughly on the shiny jewelry.

Dean was already covering one of his nipples in sympathy when the paddle wielder struck Cas heavily across the chest spinning him in the opposite direction of the man who had a grip on his nipple ring and it ripped out. 

“Son of a _bitch_.”

Cas cried out at the pain as blood slid down his torso.  It wasn’t clear to Dean if the move had been intentional, but the men laughed at the result and threatened Cas with tearing out the other one. 

The pained expression stayed fixed on Cas’s face and his breathing was shallow.  Dean recognized that he grimaced in sync with his strained breaths and that probably meant a rib injury from the impact.  One of the guys must have come to the same conclusion.  His relatively gentle touch to Cas’s chest and the resulting groan of agony confirmed it for Dean. 

That was going to be hard to heal unless these dicks eased up. 

Instead of showing sympathy, they lowered Cas to his knees and commenced with the sex portion of the show. 

Popping his earbuds out, Dean dropped his head into his hands and muffled a sigh.  When he looked up, he realized Sam was no longer in the room and wondered when he had snuck out.  Dean got up and paced restlessly around, occasionally glancing at the laptop.  After a few minutes he peered out the window and spotted Sam leaning against the car, talking on his phone.

With Sam’s ass on the trunk blocking access to the whiskey, Dean reluctantly sat down again.  He didn’t bother with the sound, because both men had forced their way inside Cas and his face was contorted with pain as they moved together.  It was unclear what was hurting him more, the double penetration or the accompanying movements and pressure of an arm slung across his rapidly bruising rib cage, holding him against the man beneath him.  

Dean had been stuck with fractured ribs before and it was a bitch just to breathe.  Even with it happening right in front of him, it was hard to imagine what Cas was going through.  So Dean wasn’t at all surprised when Cas seemingly blacked out for a minute.  He whimpered when he came to.

The man below Cas started to stroke his half-hard cock, eventually coaxing it into a full-fledged erection.  They rarely touched Cas like that and Dean didn’t like to see it now.  Any pleasure Cas felt would just be fused with pain.   An orgasm would probably hurt right now. 

In an effort to distract himself, Dean drank his beer and fiddled with the label.  This had all happened weeks ago and he wasn’t sure why he was still watching.  All he knew was that the thought of turning it off made him feel like he was abandoning Cas.  He shouldn’t be allowed to easily escape while Cas suffered. 

Rather than stopping the playback, Dean let the countdown to the start of the live session hold his attention.

It was like waiting for a bomb to go off.  Dean only wished that, like every action movie he’d ever seen, he could miraculously prevent disaster by defusing it at the last second. 

The video he was half paying attention to ended and Dean watched the time tick by, getting closer to Cas’s current hell on earth. 

It was a relief when Sam walked in.

“There’s another live show starting soon,” Dean blurted before Sam had even shut the door.

Sam raised an eyebrow.

“Thought you said it was tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I did.  It was.  They changed it for some reason.  Will you have a better chance of tracing a live stream?”

“Well, uh, I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Dean… to be honest, I _don’t_ know.  I’m kind of in way over my head on this ‘deep web’ stuff.  I’ll try, but I’m not feeling very optimistic about it,” Sam confessed.

“Are you shitting me?  Why am I just hearing about this now?”

“Because I’m exploring other options for getting the job done, but I didn’t want to mention it until I had something concrete.”

“ _And_?  Do you?”

“No.”

Dean rose from his seat and took a couple steps away from Sam.  His hands briefly found the back of his head as he raised his eyes to the ceiling. 

“We’re going to find him, Dean.  It just might take longer than you’d like.”

Turning back to Sam, hands on his hips, Dean shook his head.

“Yeah, it’s just…”  Dean gestured towards the laptop.  “These people are sick and Cas has been with them for too long already.  I just, I dunno what to do.  I know how to handle problems right in front of me—gank the monster, save the victim, but this…  I can’t even begin to do anything.  I’m as powerless as Cas is and I _hate_ it, Sam.”

“I know.  Me too.”

Dean didn’t want sympathetic understanding.  He wanted to make those men bleed.  He settled for storming out the door and retrieving the whiskey.   

 

 

When Dean returned, Sam was dutifully sitting in front of his own laptop with the same website pulled up.  He was going to try and that was all Dean could ask.

Dean splashed his face in the sink before he took up his spot across from Sam and pulled out his credit card to buy his way into the imminent show.  He had forgotten that there were options to ‘participate’ by choosing some of the shit they did to Cas.  Most options were already purchased, but Dean quickly bought the ones that were left using the site’s required form of digital currency.  It replaced typical forms of payment and offered additional privacy to both buyer and seller.  It worked in his favor since purchasing _Illegal Torture Porn_  would surely elicit some kind of red flags from the credit card fraud-catchers. 

“C’mere, Sam.  Which of these would hurt the least?  I’m leaning towards flogger.”

Wandering over, Sam frowned at the screen and his eyes widened.

“You _want_ to be the one telling them what to do?”

“Better me than anyone else.”  Dean shrugged.  “I bought what was left anyway.”

“Okaaay.  So choosing not to blindfold him is an easy one, but what are you going to pick for hurting his chest versus his back?”

That was difficult.  Cas could see the hits coming if he chose his chest, but the back would be less painful by Dean’s estimation.  Plus, Cas’s ribs still might not be healed. 

“His back looked horrible two days ago,” Dean said, still undecided.

“You’re right.  Go with chest then.”

“We couldn’t actually see his front with all that wax though…”

“What, you think that side coulda been worse?”

Dean sighed.

“I friggin’ hope not.”

Sam sat down again and Dean delayed choosing.  He hated talking about Cas like he was a piece of meat they were going to tenderize.  Maybe once the streaming started he could see how Cas looked and make a decision.  Who knew what the bastards might’ve done to him in the past 48 hours. 

 

 

When the feed began and Cas appeared on screen it was a close up of just his face and it startled Dean to be looking right at him.  Not that Cas was looking back.  His eyes were downcast.  The shadows underneath them dark.  Yellow and pale purple tinged the skin around his one eye that had previously been black and blue.  He had a split lower lip.

_“Look at the camera.”_

Without moving his head, Castiel’s eyes shifted to be level with the camera.  It was like he wasn’t seeing it though.  His blank expression didn’t change one iota.  Dean could always find answers in Cas’s eyes, but now they were vacant and glazed over in a way that gave him chills.    

_“He’s doing it again.”_

Almost as soon as it was said, Castiel’s face crinkled in pain and a hushed noise escaped his mouth before he caught his bottom lip with his teeth and clamped it shut.  He looked at things Dean couldn’t see, briefly closing his eyes and then focusing on the camera again. 

Resignation and sorrow stared back at Dean.    

But then the camera pulled back and all Dean could see was the man behind Cas with a gun. 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what I was kind of referring to for the one-way blindfold, if anyone is interested.
> 
> https://www.etsy.com/listing/287184527/one-way-magic-blindfold
> 
> I'll try not to make you wait too long for the next update. Thanks for reading and all the feedback!


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

It was a .45. 

Probably a Glock from what Dean could see.  Those didn’t have manual safeties. 

Dean couldn’t look away from it. 

He thought of the plastic bag that had been held over Castiel’s head.  It hadn’t been meant to kill him, but it could have easily gone wrong. 

And now there was a gun. 

“S—Sam, are you seeing this?”  Dean asked, without looking at his brother. 

He only had eyes for Castiel.  It was the least restrained Dean had seen him.  Cas was kneeling, with only his wrists bound by duct tape in front of him, naked as always.  Besides the man standing behind him with the gun, there were two other men on either side of Castiel.  One was petting a hand through his hair. 

Dean figured Cas didn’t know about the gun yet. 

“They won’t kill him, Dean.  He’s making them money,” Sam said and Dean wished there was more conviction in his voice.  “It’s probably not even loaded, just for show, you know.  Scare Cas, excite the perverts watching.  It can’t be anything more than blanks.”

Dean knew even blanks could kill someone at close range. 

_“Get me hard, angel.”_

Turning to the man who spoke, Castiel fumbled to undo his pants with his taped wrists.  Sam made a noise like he was clearing his throat, but didn’t say anything.  A large hand cupped the back of Cas’s head and pushed his face into the boxers.  Cas licked at the outline of the man’s cock through the fabric.

“Angel… you don’t think they know who he is, do you?  This doesn’t seem like something involving angels or demons to me,” Sam offered and Dean knew he was trying to distract them both from the blow job Cas had started on.     

“I thought of it, but nothing I’ve seen in the videos supports that,” Dean sighed.  “It’s just a bunch of douchebag humans and an unfortunate nickname, I think.”

“Huh.”

Cas turned to the other two and saw the gun the man was holding at the same height as his dick. 

He drew back at the muzzle in his face, but didn’t panic. 

_“You suck me off_ with _the gun,”_ the guy said, aligning the barrel with his erection.  His finger was extended, hovering just outside the trigger guard.

Dean felt some of his fear dissipate, because no one would willingly put a _loaded_ gun against their junk, right?

Leaning towards it, Castiel’s eyes were glued to the gun, but he didn’t seem afraid.  He was strangely calm, licking at the end of each phallus before trying to take metal and flesh into his mouth as one.

The expression on Castiel’s face was giving Dean a weird vibe.  He was regarding the gun like it was a life-line instead of a possible death sentence. 

Dean was getting a bad feeling.  After years of practice, his instincts were fluent in detecting danger.  Now they were making themselves heard, screaming that the situation was about to go south. 

_“Mmm, yeah, you love my big cock, don’t y—fuuuhuck!”_

It happened in quick succession, but it felt like slow motion to Dean.

Cas was wrenched away by his hair.

_“Fucking cunt bit me!”_

The armed man clutched Castiel’s jaw and cracked him in the temple with his gun.  Cas tumbled to the floor, blood in his hair.  One of the three aimed a swift kick at his midsection.

_“Thought we beat that shit out of him.”_

_“Get him up.  Get the fucking earmuffs.”_

Cas was pulled back onto his knees, a hand tight at the back of his neck keeping him in place.

The men were putting on protective ear coverings, the type worn for safety at shooting ranges.

“Cas is in trouble.” 

“No shit, Sherlock,” Dean snapped at Sam.  He realized he was standing, leaning over his laptop with his hands flat on the table.  Dean found it was impossible to stay still when he was all but vibrating with adrenaline, the impulse to fight untamable.

If they brought ear protection that meant they had every intention of firing the gun.  Must have all along. 

Cas looked so tired, but when the gun was pointed at his face he looked hopeful for a brief moment and Dean wanted to be sick. 

Racking the slide, the gunman laughed.

_“Nuh uh. No early check-outs, angel.  I play with my toys till they fucking_ break _.  Hold him.”_

The other two held Cas in place, hands on his neck, his hair, his shoulders. 

Moving to join the others behind Castiel, the man lowered the gun so the chamber was nearly flush with Cas’s ear.  The muzzle was pointing ahead at nothing.

_“You don’t want to listen to orders, then you lose the privilege of listening at all.”_

The shot rang out and it was loud even coming from the laptop. 

Cas’s hands flew up to the side of his head as he crumpled forward.  Dean couldn’t see if he caught powder burns from the discharge.

_“Pull him back. We’re doing both ears.”_

_“Hear that, angel?”_

Still holding his head, Cas didn’t react to the question.  When the men pried his hands away and straightened him up again, Cas looked disoriented and scared.  Dean was willing to bet he couldn’t hear a goddamn thing. 

Cursing, Dean stalked away from the laptop where they were getting ready to try and deafen his friend again.  

“Dean.”

Gunfire sounded and Dean felt anger flaring hot then heavy, liquid and leaden like molten rock.  Shooting a gun next to Cas’s friggin’ ear.  He might lose his hearing and that type of damage was irreversible.  Probably guaranteed tinnitus at the very least. 

“Dean!”

A hand touched his shoulder and Dean spun around.  His raised arms knocked into Sam’s.

“Whoa, whoa, Dean, stop.”

Sam was looking at him, all concern and alarm, like Dean was the one in danger.  He realized he was out of breath, poised for a fight, and he let his hands drop back to his sides.  

Glancing down at his throbbing knuckles, Dean saw they were scratched and a tad bloody.  His attention snapped to Sam, who looked uninjured, but wide-eyed, like Dean was a special brand of crazy.  Dean turned back to the wall he had been facing before Sam interrupted him.  He didn’t remember punching the hole there at all.  It was large enough that he figured he must have popped it a few times. 

“Calm down,” Sam said and that was _so_ not what Dean wanted to hear.  Sam with his damn rationality and logic had no place in this equation, not when Cas was… when it was all Dean’s fault that he wanted…

“Look, Dean, I know it’s fucked up, but just take some deep breaths.  We’re working on finding him.   We’ll get Cas back.”

All of a sudden his head hurt and Dean pinched the bridge of his nose.  He could no longer hear the feed from the laptop and figured Sam must have killed the volume.  Peering over Sam’s shoulder, Dean saw movement on the screen.     

He shook his head. 

“I can’t fucking watch this anymore.”

“Then don’t.” 

“I can’t let him go through this shit alone, Sam.”

“I know you hate it, but he _is_ alone, Dean.  He doesn’t know you’re watching.  You’re not actually helping him.  You don’t have to suffer through it too.”

But Dean did.  He owed it to Cas.  It was his fault he was caught up in this mess.

“I’m going to try tracing the location.  I don’t really need to listen or watch to do that and neither should you.  Take a drive or something.”  Dean studied the graying carpet, the stain under his feet.  “I’ll check on him, Dean.”

Nodding, Dean collected his keys and his jacket and left without a word. 

He didn’t get in the car.  Instead he set off on foot, choosing a direction at random and walking the streets.  Cas had been here at some point.  Could still be in the city somewhere.  Might have been on this very block.  They’d have to check police reports for shots fired.  If Cas was here, someone might have overheard the gunshots and reported it. 

Dean pulled out his flask, downing the contents as he walked.  The night was windy, chilling Dean as he meandered.  The cool air was sobering in a way and Dean polished off the last of the whiskey in an effort to combat it. 

It wasn’t enough and when Dean saw the bar he didn’t even need to deliberate.  He walked into the warmth and low lighting, the unknown bar made familiar because of the sticky floor and distinctive clack of pool balls.  With any luck, someone would act like an asshole so he could pick a fight. 

Choosing a corner spot at the bar over a distant table so his refills wouldn’t be delayed, Dean found himself three drinks in and deflecting conversation with some chick.  Surprisingly, she was missing all his heavy handed hints to get lost.

When she touched his arm, he turned to her in exasperation, the dismissal dying in his throat when he saw bright, blue eyes.  Her dark bangs and eyeliner were a stark contrast to the brilliant hue and Dean couldn’t look away.  She smiled now that she had his attention.

It was a struggle to make it through two drinks with her.  Dean found he cared less than normal about what she was saying, but there was still something compelling about the woman.  Maybe instead of a fight he needed this. 

He left with her. 

As they walked, he felt his disinterest returning.  He hadn’t drunk enough and his flask was empty.  Dean considered ditching Alice—Allison?—but changed his mind when she unlocked her door and turned back to smile at him, tilting her head towards the interior in invitation.  She pulled Dean inside and pressed up against him, catching his lips. 

Dean took comfort in the touching and the wanting and her insistent kissing.  Wrapping his arms around her, Dean drew her in, needing to feel her breath on his skin and her pulse under his palm.  He wanted her warm body close to him, but she was pulling away and taking off her shirt.  Her skin was smooth and only blemished by freckles and Dean found himself thinking of Cas, bruised and battered.  The thought stopped him cold, because what was he even _doing_ here?

“Um,” Dean started, holding up his hands in between them.  He didn’t usually make time for knocking boots during a hunt.  It was almost always afterwards, when he could relax and reward himself for a job well done.  This wasn’t a hunt—it was more important.  It was personal and Dean didn’t know how he let himself think that this was a good idea.  He didn’t deserve the comfort. 

“What is it?  I have condoms if you need—”

“No, it’s—I have to go,” Dean mumbled, stepping away from her.

“Oh.” 

Ally looked disappointed and Dean was half-considering blurting the tired ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ line—which was true—when he was saved by Sam calling.    

“It’s my brother, I have to go meet him,” Dean lied, opening the door and answering his phone. 

“Perfect timing,” Dean said by way of greeting once he was safe in the hallway. 

“You okay?”  The concern from earlier was still in Sam’s voice.  Dean chose to ignore it.

“Yeah, just helped me dodge some awkwardness.”

“You left the car.  Do you need a ride?”

“No.  No, I’m gonna walk.  Get some sleep.  I’ll be there soon.”

Sam agreed and Dean picked his way back to the bar first so he could find a familiar landmark to get back where he needed to go.  Neither of them had mentioned Cas and Dean knew that meant Sam hadn’t been successful in any way that mattered.  They would have to start fresh in the morning.

As he walked, Dean thought about Cas and wondered what else they had done to punish him.  If he was still suffering the consequences of his rebellion.  If his damaged ears heard ringing or nothing at all and which would scare him more.

Sam had been right.  Cas was all alone.  Tonight he had marshalled what was probably the last of his defiance in a desperate attempt to permanently escape.  He was following orders until he recognized that damn gun as a way out and Dean knew he needed to get a message to his friend before it was too late.  He couldn’t let Cas lose hope completely. 

 

 

When Dean finally made it back to the motel room, Sam was asleep.  Dean stared at the water-stained ceiling for a long time, unable to get Cas off his mind.  Tossing and turning, Dean’s thoughts twisted like his sheets, consumed with the idea of communicating to Cas that they were coming for him. 

He didn’t know he had drifted off until it was morning and Sam was calling him. 

“Dean, get up.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m up.  You can have first shower,” Dean mumbled, burying his face in the pillow again.

“I’m finished.  Already got us coffee and breakfast.  Now get up, dude.  Charlie’s back.”

Dean frowned up at Sam, because he should have led with that. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this wasn't longer, but no crazy cliffhanger, so there's that. 
> 
> I researched guns, (types and manufacturers and other nonsense I'm not sure I understand, trying to choose one) but this is definitely a subject I have limited knowledge on so apologies for any inaccuracies. Not certain how much Dean could tell by just looking at one, but I went with it anyway.
> 
> Moving on... Thanks so much for all the feedback!! I really appreciate the support!


	6. Chapter 6

 

After the fastest shower in his life, Dean sat at the round, unbalanced table next to Sam, drinking coffee and munching a doughnut.  Sam explained while he signed into Skype. 

Before they had left, Sam had tasked Kevin with finding a way to get a message to Charlie in Oz.  The advanced placement, demon-slayer had come through for them.  Just last night he unearthed a spell that the well-stocked bunker had supplies for and was able to communicate with Charlie through a mirror.  All Charlie’s worldly possessions i.e., her laptop, had been stored at the bunker when she left for Oz.  So Kevin had borrowed it for the spell, using it as a link to Charlie and enabling him to seek out her specifically when he called through the mirror.      

“Kevin phoned last night to say that it worked and that Charlie agreed to come back, but I didn’t expect him to text me this morning to say she arrived,” Sam finished. 

“I could kiss you right now, man.  I can’t believe you got Charlie back—if anyone can get a lock on those bastards’ location it’s her.”

“Yeah, I sure hope so.”

A monotonous digital melody played on the computer announcing an incoming video call and then Charlie’s face lit up the screen.

“Hey, bitches! Charlie to the rescue.”

“Charlie, it is so good to see you, kid.”

“Yeah, thanks so much for coming,” Sam agreed. 

Charlie beamed and tilted her head forward, making a little bowing motion with her hand.  “In the flesh.”

“We really need your help.”

“You’re welcome!”  Kevin called from off screen and Charlie adjusted her laptop as he appeared and sat down next to her.

“You too, Kev.  Thanks.  You guys are the friggin’ best,” Dean gushed, because he really meant it. 

“Yeah, well, Charlie must like you too.  Trusting a total stranger urging her to come back.  I could’ve been possessed or something, you know.  It could’ve been a trap,” Kevin scolded Charlie.

Dean rolled his eyes at Kevin’s paranoia, while Sam admitted he had a point.

Charlie just shrugged. 

“I don’t know.  You seemed legit.”  She looked back at the two of them.  “He was in your fortress of solitude...”

“We prefer Batcave.”

“…Knew a lot about both of you.  So I rolled the dice, but I knew the risks.  I’m kind of queen of fantasy, tabletop, dice-centric games.  Did you forget the tattoo?”

“Not likely.  How did you get here so fast?”

“Oh, well, time moves differently in Oz.  Kevin told me it was only like 12 hours here, but it was longer there.  I did haul ass, but I am not a speedster.”

“Well, thanks for coming as quick as you did,” Dean said.

“Thanks for pulling my car into the garage.”  Charlie smiled broadly.  “So yeah, I got your SOS and figured I could take some time out of my busy schedule to come save your asses.  I mean, Harry and Ron wouldn’t have been able to save Ginny from the basilisk without Hermione’s big ole brain cracking the case wide open first, right?”

“Yes…?”

“What?”

 “Who am I in this analogy?”

Charlie turned to Kevin sitting beside her.

“Well, I just met you, but I’m thinking… Neville?”

“I’m cool with that,” Kevin nodded his approval.

“That makes Cas my little sister and you and I _married_ ,” Sam pointed out. 

“Well, in my opinion Hermione ended up with the wrong—”

“Wait, hold up, time out,” Dean interrupted, because Sam had just mentioned Cas and he was priority here.  “You three can nerd out later.  Did Kevin fill you in on what’s going on with Cas?  Cause it’s like a rush order rescue mission.”

“I gave her the overview,” Kevin supplied.  “Sam was skimpy on the details.”

“Don’t worry, Dean.  We’ll save your boyfriend, I mean, best friend.  Sam, send me everything you’ve got on this site.”

Sam pulled the laptop closer to himself and took over the conversation.  Dean sipped his coffee, feeling grateful to have backup in their search for Cas and confused that no one reacted to Charlie’s slip of the tongue.  Maybe he just imagined it. 

 

 

Once they gave Charlie all the relevant information on the website and Sam warned her about the graphic content, they hit the road again, feeling far more positive than the night before.  Dean was thinking of Charlie as the ace up his sleeve—just the card they needed for a win.    

If it had been up to him, he might not have bothered her in Oz, so he was glad the decision had been Sam’s.  It was definitely the right call if they needed someone better at hacking than him.

Picking up where they left off, they went to the homeless shelter first and talked to a man named Scott.  He had a scrubby graying beard and rounded thin-rimmed glasses.  When they handed him the photo of Cas to look over, he only gave it a cursory glance.

“Well, we see a lot of people and there are so many volunteers here.  Guy doesn’t look familiar to me, but you’re welcome to talk to the rest of the staff.  Won’t be here much longer though.  Once breakfast is cleaned up, no one is allowed in again until the evening.”

Dean frowned.

“You don’t shelter people during the day?”

“No, they check-in before dinner, stay the night, and leave after breakfast,” Scott replied, collecting some papers from his desk.

Glancing at Sam, Dean couldn’t tell if this was news to him too.  Sam produced a business card and thanked the man before they headed for the large cafeteria.  The tables were already cleared and it was mainly the last of the staff refilling napkins and sweeping up debris.  The talked to the volunteers one by one and it wasn’t until the third person, a woman with dark features and a colorful headband, that anyone recognized Cas.

“You know, I think I did see him a few months ago.  I was working the front desk when he came by. He was too late for intake, but I told him to come back and see us the next day.”  She paused and chewed at her lip.  “Though, I don’t remember seeing him after that.”

“Did you get a name?” 

“No, I’m sorry.  I don’t remember one.  You do need some type of identification to stay here, but I didn’t ask him for any since he was already too late, just told him to bring it next time.  He’s not in trouble is he?”

“We’re just trying to find him, ma’am,” Sam said, reaching into his pocket for another business card.

“Wait, wait,” Dean interrupted. “You need ID to stay in a homeless shelter?”

The woman looked surprised. 

“Generally, yes.  Photo ID or something like a birth certificate or social security card is required.  Some shelters ask for proof of recent residence too, like eviction notices or pay stubs.”

“What the hell kind of sense does that make?”  Dean interjected loudly and the woman made an apologetic face and proceeded uncertainly.  It must have been the first time an FBI agent yelled at her.

“Those are the rules here.  It’s for the safety of everyone in the shelter,” she explained, directing her answer more to Sam in case Dean snapped at her again.

“We understand.  Please call us if you remember anything else or see him again,” Sam said, nailing the professionalism that Dean hadn’t been able to maintain. 

Fuming all the way to the car, Dean didn’t speak until they got the next location on their list.  He hadn’t thought too much about Cas having to stay at homeless shelters, but it had never occurred to Dean that he might want to stay at one and would be turned away without proper documentation.  The hell kind of system was that, anyway?

No one at the food bank could remember seeing Cas, which was a shame because they didn’t need to run a background check just to give someone a bowl of soup. 

The hopefulness Dean had been feeling since their chat with Charlie started ebbing as the day wore on and they went from one motel to another with no results.  When Dean had told Cas he couldn’t stay at the bunker he had only been thinking of Sam.  Even though he hadn’t wanted to kick Cas out, clearly he should have set him up with more than just cash to make his life easier. 

That point was really driven home when they talked to Chad at the Blue Ridge Motel.  When he took the printout of Cas from Dean’s hand, recognition sparked right away.  He nodded, rolling the toothpick he was chewing on from one side of his mouth to the other. 

“Oh, yeah, he was here.  Bit of a fruit loop if you ask me.  Didn’t go by Clarence or Casi—Casliel, was it?”

“What name did he use?”       

“Uh, Steve, I think.  Lemme, look him up here in our files,” Chad turned to the counter behind him and pulled a large binder closer.  Flipping back several pages and scanning with his finger, he muttered “Steve” repeatedly under his breath while he looked.  Dean and Sam exchanged glances.

“You don’t keep your records digitally?” Sam asked, indicating the computer by inclining his head when Chad looked up. 

“We do.  He’s just not in the computer.  Guy didn’t have a credit card.  No ID.  Had to finagle a deal with the owner to stay at all.” 

Chad went back to his meticulous scanning and Dean was mentally kicking himself again.  He knew most places only accepted credit.  He should have thought of that sooner.

“Oh, here he is.  Yeah, Steve Allen.  Only wanted to stay one night, just about five months ago like you said.”

“Could we speak to the owner about it?”

“I am the owner,” Chad said, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against the counter.

“So _you_ spoke to him?  Worked out a deal?”  Sam clarified.

“Yep.  Without Lady Visa or Master Card he had to pay for two nights up front and leave a security deposit of $100.”

“Which you gave back when he checked-out, right?”  Dean asked, hating the thought of Cas losing money he really needed because some guy dicked him over.

“I would have.  If he ever checked out.  Let myself into the room on the third day intending to kick him to the curb, but he wasn’t there.  Had to have a new key made, so the deposit was a good idea.”

Sam had taken out his notepad that he mainly doodled on while interrogating people, and he tapped his pen against it, ready to take real notes. 

“Was there any sign of a struggle or anything strange about the room?” 

Chad shrugged.  “Nope.  Well, the idiot got salt everywhere.”

“So, what, didn’t you call the cops?  File a missing persons report?”  Dean demanded.  “It’s not exactly normal for people to just not check-out and leave behind money that’s theirs, right?”

“Just cause someone leaves in a hurry don’ mean they’re missing, Agent.  I doubt the cops would’ve thought anything of it.  Now, did you want the shit he left here?”

 

 

The ‘shit’ Cas had left fit into two yellow grocery bags.  To prevent the thin plastic from ripping they were triple bagged and Dean wondered if Cas had been carrying them around that way or if it was the work of the genius motel staff.  Inside the first were assorted toiletries, the red hoodie Cas had been wearing, one can of potatoes, one can of green beans, a packet of mixed nuts, and the cell phone and charger Dean had given him.  The second one had two plastic spoons, a simple change of clothes, and new packages of boxers and socks that Dean would guess were the wrong sizes for Cas.  Idiot didn’t even know how to shop for clothing and Dean had sent him out into the world without a single lesson. 

Chad had explained that they normally trashed junk that people left behind, but since the cell phone was there they thought it more likely someone might come back for it.  So it had been all thrown together and kept in the office, eventually shoved to the back of some storage cabinet, all but forgotten until the feds had shown up asking about the man who left it. 

They had sorted through it in front of Chad, but now that they had eaten and gotten back to their room Dean was picking through the items again.  He looked at the canned potatoes with distaste.  They weren’t terrible, but Dean had eaten more than enough canned goods in his youth while he tried to make the money their father left between hunts last longer than it could. 

Plugging the cell phone in to charge, Dean turned it over in his hands.  It was one of their oldest ones, a flip phone that was chipped in places, with the number written on a scrap of paper and taped to the back.  Dean swiped his thumb over it and wished he had dialed him sooner.  Those ten fucking digits had been his only tether to Cas.  His best chance of finding him and they were nothing now. 

Dean couldn’t think like that though.  Maybe the phone number _had been_ his best lead for Cas, but now Charlie was back and that was going to make all the difference. 

There was a pair of jeans that looked too big for Cas and that was confirmed when Dean noticed the length of twine strung through the belt loops.  In the pockets Dean found several dozen paper packets of salt, the kind they had at fast food joints.  He stared at them miserably.  Cas may have been warded from angels, but he was still concerned about demons finding him.

Wanting to be thorough, Dean picked up the hoodie and checked the pockets on that too.  Inside one there were pages of motel stationary folded in half and held in place with a rubber band, like a makeshift booklet.  Cas had written a few notes to himself in tidy script. 

_~~Salt~~_

_~~Clothes~~_

_~~Food~~_

_~~Learn how to shave?~~_

_Shaving is too expensive_

 

The address of the homeless shelter they had been to was written out with ‘ _Get_ _ID?’_ scrawled beneath it. 

The next two pages were titled ‘Good’ and ‘Bad’ with foods listed beneath them.  Olives was the first item under the ‘Bad’ column.  It was underlined heavily and Dean could just imagine Cas fuming over wasting three bucks on a can of olives only to be disappointed with the taste.

Folded into the next page was a torn piece of newspaper with an ad incentivizing the masses to ‘donate’ plasma and be reimbursed 50 bucks a pop.  It wasn’t the worst way to make money and Dean wondered if Cas had gone there.  They probably wouldn’t take him without ID.  There was no address, just a website.  Dean showed it to Sam.  They would have to check it out and see if there was a facility nearby. 

He was hoping Charlie might have something for them.  A location or a lead.  They could keep sniffing around the motel Cas had been at, talk to the businesses nearby.  Dean thought they had passed a church near there, a convenience store, a Gas ‘N Sip.  It was likely other people had seen Cas, but Dean wasn’t convinced that poking around would yield much result.  He wanted something more substantial than trails of months old breadcrumbs hinting at where Cas might have gone.    

Charlie was supposed to check in with them, but not for a couple hours still, so Dean was back on Cas’s website, unable to stay away.  There was no live show tonight, which was a small blessing, so Dean selected the video filmed immediately after the fiasco that had torn out Cas’s nipple ring and injured his ribs. 

Surprisingly, his captors had given Cas a break, in a way, but Dean wasn’t sure it was intentional.    And it wasn’t any type of reprieve that Dean would thank them for, far from it, but it didn’t really exacerbate his rib injury.  They were still tormenting Cas, just in a different way. 

It started simply enough, with Cas naked and bound at his wrists with rope.  His ankles were tied, but only loosely so that he was able to shuffle along.  There was a translucent cock-cage ensnaring Castiel’s junk, but Dean was more interested in the change of scenery.  The location was different and Dean leaned forward in his seat, paying attention.  Previously, Cas was always in the same dark, barren room and Dean was on high alert for anything in the new environment that could be considered a clue.

The large man, who Dean suspected was in charge, led Cas into a walk-in freezer.  Hesitating just inside the door, Cas was already curling in on himself at the sudden temperature change.  He was jerked forward by his restrained wrists and told to kneel.  The cameraman followed them in and despite the inadequate lighting Dean could see Castiel’s breath coming in little clouds.  Cas knelt on what looked like cardboard and Dean was grateful that at least his bare feet and legs weren’t in direct contact with the metal floor.

Where Cas was naked, the man in front of him was fully clothed and wearing a heavy jacket.  The ski mask was still on, protecting his face, and he had gloves.  Cas had started to shiver slightly.  Apart from the men and the scattered cardboard littering the floor, nothing else was in the freezer.  It wasn’t large, maybe an area 8x8 feet, devoid of shelving or food. 

The asshole in the parka undid his pants, pulling out his cock and crowding Cas.  

_“Need a nice hole to keep me warm.  Open that pretty mouth, angel.”_

Cas let his mouth fall open and the man pushed inside, trying to stuff most of himself in right away.  There was only a brief moment where Cas choked a bit and Dean was disgusted with himself when he thought of it as Cas improving. 

He really had though.  In the early videos Castiel’s gag reflex always made him choke and even vomit.  It messed him up and he was punished for it.  So as depressing as it was that he’d had enough practice to adjust and as sick as it made Dean, he took it as a good thing.

Dean opened another window to look up information on freezers and hypothermia.  The crap he was watching wasn’t current and that made Dean less anxious about frost bite.  Though he hadn’t explicitly counted them, Dean was fairly certain that Cas had all his fingers and toes in the live sequences that he’d seen.    

He didn’t know how cold they had the freezer set, but it was likely below freezing and without a coat Cas was already shaking all over.  

 _“Watch your damn teeth or I’ll knock them out,”_ the man warned Cas while thrusting into his mouth.  

Like he could help it if they chattered—Dean was getting goosebumps just watching.  With his arms drawn in close to his chest, Cas was slightly favoring the side of his body with the injured ribs and the intact nipple ring.  The metal had to be extra cold on his skin.

_“Your blue lips look so good on my cock, angel.  I could fuck your hot mouth all night.”_

A second man came to join them and Dean groaned, waving Sam away when he tried to ask what was wrong.  This jerk had on several layers under his red, button-up sweater and he whipped out his dick straight away.  Instead of waiting for a turn, he proceeded to piss into Cas’s hair.  The urine steamed and streamed down Cas’s neck and face.  Though Cas squeezed his eyes shut, he gagged on the cock filling his mouth, probably because of the smell.

Gloved hands held Cas in place as the first guy grunted through his orgasm and pulled out just in time to come on Cas’s face. 

The newcomer was rubbing himself through the warmth and safety of his pants.  Dean had been carefully watching the time and, though it had only been a few minutes, he hoped they would take Cas out of there now. 

Instead they roughly unwound Castiel’s overlapping arms, prying him out of his hunched position and rearranging him on his forearms and knees so they could get at his ass. 

 _“Fuck, his skin is cold.  Gimme your gloves,”_ the new guy said, extracting Cas’s butt plug and quickly replacing it with his cock.  _“Shit, what a difference.  He’s so fucking hot inside.”_

_“Another warm hole to play with.  You want him to come in your ass? Huh?  Speak up, angel.”_

Cas was trying to respond through trembling lips.  Mr. Cardigan friggin’ Rogers yanked the gloves on his delicate hands and seized Cas’s hips, moving quickly in and out, from hot to cold.     

 _“P—p—puh, pl—ple, puh—lease,”_ Cas tried to agree with what they were asking him.

From off screen someone handed Parka guy a bucket.

“God damn sons of bitches!”

_“Hold him tight.”_

Water cascaded down Cas’s back and he jolted like he was burned, violent tremors wracking through him as he spluttered and fell forward.  Cas was half sobbing with the pain.  Dean imagined his ribs had to be in agony with all his involuntary shuddering.    

 _“Like a fucking bronco,”_ Cardigan said, still buried inside Cas and gripping his hips fiercely as Cas convulsed, shaking too badly to push his front half up from the soaked cardboard. 

_“Bitch is tight like a—”_

“Dean!”

His earbuds were yanked out as Sam waved a hand in his face and half shut the laptop.  Dean caught it, stopping it from closing all the way.

“Wha—what the hell, Sam?!”

“I told you not to watch that crap.  We’re already gonna have to pay for the huge hole you punched in the wall, like you’re the goddamn Kool-Aid man.  I don’t want you freaking out and breaking anything else.”

“It’s not even our money, Sam. Get off.”

“That’s not the point, Dean.” 

“Well, I’m watching it. Either now or later.  They recorded it for all eternity, so no rush if you want to keep being a pain in the ass.”

Sam shook his head, caught between annoyance and disappointment. 

“Whatever, Dean.  You’re only hurting yourself. I’m going to go do something useful,” Sam bitched at him, grabbing up his jacket and slamming the door shut behind him.

“Yeah, you do that.”

Dean went back to the video, not bothering to go back and see what he missed.  He was just in time to watch Cardigan jizz all over Cas and shove the plug back in.  Cas’s shivering had subsided considerably, which was actually a bad sign for hypothermia, so Dean was relieved when they grabbed at his arms and half carried, half dragged him from the room.  The video ended. 

Those assholes better have gotten him warmed up fast. 

 

 

Dean watched a second video after the short freezer fiasco.  He was getting closer to the end of the old material and didn’t know how he felt about it. 

Cas was strapped into a sex swing, with his ankles raised in the air.  The man standing in between Castiel’s legs didn’t seem familiar to Dean.  Instead of skiing gear to hide his face, he had a black mask/bandana combo on like he was the friggin’ Dread Pirate Roberts.   

Dean didn’t understand what he was seeing at first.  Cas was keeping still as the guy fed a long, metal rod into his dick hole.  It was lubed up, but looked painful and Dean had to check online to figure out that shoving shit into your urethra was actually something people did.  It was called sounding and it sounded fucking painful.  Warnings about the importance of sterile tools and hands to avoid infection jumped out at him.

Violence took a back seat for this particular session.  The guy liked to hear himself talk and kept loudly prompting Castiel to answer him, wanting him to say that it felt good when he jerked him off or that he loved being fucked and filled and teased.  Another man joined in and they both had time to come twice while the pirate kept edging Castiel with vibrating toys until he was an overstimulated mess, pleading for release.

It wasn’t the first time Cas had asked and begged for what he was told or because he truly didn’t want something, but it was the first time Dean believed he really needed and wanted to get off.  Cas was allowed to come eventually, but the stimulation he needed was revoked at the last moment, ruining his orgasm.  Dean felt his frustration when Castiel’s climax was more of a dribble than a detonation.

The next video was back to pain. 

As he watched Cas being hurt, Dean considered how he could send a message to him.  He’d have to pay to call the shots in the next live feed—which was in two days.

Exploring the payment options for dictating what happens, Dean saw that someone had already paid for a custom show on the next live feed.  Well, that wasn’t happening.  Dean would have to buy it out from under the person. The people who had Cas only cared about money, so Dean would just have to give them more.  Promise to pay triple what they were asking if they bumped him to the front of the line.    

Now he just had to figure out how to make it look like he wanted to hurt Cas, while somehow conveying to him who he was.  On more than one occasion Dean had seen a video end with Cas thanking someone by name.  At first he thought it was the identity of one of his captors, but Dean had come to realize people paid to have Cas thank them specifically.  It could be an option, but it wasn’t different or special and Cas would probably just think Dean was some sicko with the same name.

Dean was considering the staggering amount of abuse Cas had already endured in the videos and trying to recall which of it had been the least painful.  There wasn’t a lot to choose from.  Thankfully his cell phone interrupted his gloomy thoughts and Dean was glad to see Charlie’s name lighting up his screen.

“Hey, Charlie.  Tell me you have good news.”

“Geeze, so much for small talk.  You do realize you just tanked any chance of this being an uplifting phone call, right?”

“So nothing?  That means you’ve got nothing?”

Dean felt the constriction in his chest as a physical ache.  

“Listen, I’ve been working my butt off here, but no, I don’t have anything you’d consider good news.  That being said, I’m still trying.  There are still options available to me, some of which I’m currently in the process of executing, so thanks for the vote of confidence. 

“I—that’s not what I meant, Charlie.  It’s Cas and… I guess, I got excited when you called.”

“I was supposed to check in, Dean, but we _will_ find him.  I need you to believe it too, cause the truth is out there, Scully.  I mean, c’mon, I’ve been on this for less than 24 hours, give me a break.  Winterfell wasn’t built in a day.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know…” Dean mumbled, trying not to think about how defeated Cas had looked when he wasn’t shot in retaliation for biting. 

“Listen, Charlie, maybe you can help me with something else.  I need to get a message to Cas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charlie is back! She seems helpful... and dreamy. So that's exciting.  
> Thanks for sticking with this crazy, nonsense story! 
> 
> You guys are amazing! Thanks for all the feedback/subscriptions/kudos!


	7. Chapter 7

 

The comments Dean left on Cas’s most recent video, promising to pay triple what was being asked, got him what he wanted.  They took the bait and Dean authorized the payment, hoping it would be accepted without a problem. 

It was. 

Charlie had set up an email address for the correspondence, hoping to gain another way to try and track the person replying.  That worked too.  She had been able to generalize their location to Las Vegas and Dean was currently breaking the speed limit considerably as he sped in that direction.

It was another 500 miles away, but it was a hell of a lot better than wasting their time on old leads in Grand Junction. 

“We got lucky with that email thing,” Dean said.

“Uh, no, Dean.  Not lucky.  Charlie is a flat out wizard with a computer.  When we get Cas home you’re going to have to find a way to thank her.”

“Don’t I know it,” Dean agreed, appreciating Sam saying ‘when’ and not ‘if’ they got Cas back.  He didn’t miss the word ‘home’ thrown in there either and wondered if that was for his benefit or if Sam was coming around to thinking about the bunker that way.  Maybe it was because they had friends waiting there for them.    

“So where’d you disappear to last night?”

Catching up to the car in front of him, Dean moved into the next lane and easily passed the slower driver.  Sam made a noise that might have been a reconsidered objection to Dean’s speeding.  

“Do you remember me telling you about Amelia a while back?”

“I remember that her dog stunk up my car after you ran it over.”

“I didn’t _run_ him over.  And it wasn’t her dog.” Sam sighed.  “So you do remember?”

Dean shrugged.  He did, but Sam had never said a whole lot on the subject.

“I called her last night.  Asked if she would mind if we stopped in Kermit on the way back with Cas.  She wasn’t crazy about the idea, but I think I convinced her,” Sam said. 

“Are you serious right now?”  Dean asked in disbelief, shooting sideways looks at Sam as he drove.

 His brother wasn’t joking.  He looked surprised by Dean’s response. 

“So let me get this straight, you wanna tack an extra day onto our already two-day long drive home with _Cas_ on the off chance you might be able to get laid?”

 _“What_?!  No!  No, Dean, Amelia is a _vet._  I saw some of those videos; Cas might need a real doctor.  She’ll have supplies and expertise that we don’t.  I thought she might be our best bet.  I know you’re not going to want to take him to a hospital.  They’ll want to keep him there.  Not to mention we’d have to fake some health insurance or find a way to pay for it.”

“Oh, shit, you’re right.  The cops would probably want to talk to him too if we did that.  Might even connect him to Jimmy’s missing person report,” Dean said as Sam nodded along. 

“Exactly.  Cas looks like hell, there’s no way the cops wouldn’t be involved if we take him to a hospital.  So that doesn’t mean we have to go to Texas to see Amelia, but it’s an option.  We can wait and see how he’s doing.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean agreed, hoping Cas wouldn’t need that level of medical attention.  He and Sam never went to the hospital if they could avoid it.  They knew how to patch up most injuries.  It should be enough.  Cas was tough.

“I picked up clothes and other supplies too.  With all the weight he’s lost Cas’d be swimming in our stuff.”

“Good, good,” Dean mumbled. 

Apart from an early video when Cas’s clothing was cut off him, Dean hadn’t seen him wearing anything.  He was glad Sam was thinking ahead, because Dean was too busy worrying about what they’d do once they got to Las Vegas.  It wasn’t exactly a small city.  Locating Cas there still seemed daunting, but at least they had it narrowed down to one city instead of the entire country.

 

 

Even with minimal stops, it took the better part of a day to arrive in Las Vegas.  Dean avoided the strip and bright lights, heading to a cheap motel they’d used before.  They passed familiar streets and a chapel.  Dean smirked at Sam.

“Haven’t been here since you tied the knot.  Tell me, has it lost some of it’s magic since the annulment?”

Sam threw him a bitch face worthy of the history books. 

“Like you’ve never done something stupid in Vegas.  Remember your fun with the Australians, all that Vaseline and fruit on the roof top pool?  Because I do.  And you were under the influence of _tequila_ , not demonic love potions.”

“Shaddup.”

Of course, Sam would bring that up.  Guy didn’t know how to have fun and that was relatively harmless fun.  Sam was just jealous of his ability to make friends.    

Dean sighed.  He had hoped Sam would get over the Becky thing and they’d be able to hit Vegas for mini-vacations in the future.  Now it was the place where Cas was being tormented and tortured.  Monsters were always finding a way to ruin his favorite spots.  It was getting old.

The first motel only had king sized bedrooms left so they ended up at a different one that had an all you can eat buffet included.  It was more expensive, but Dean knew how to get his money’s worth when it came to buffets.  He piled his plate high and ate until he didn’t want to move any more.  Then he had dessert while Sam left him to go stretch his legs.

Walking back to the room was all the movement Dean could manage.  He fell forward onto the bed, not regretting eating that second piece of pie.  Not at all.  Groaning into the bedspread, Dean rubbed his stomach and thought of Cas.  Dude wasn’t getting enough to eat.  He’d probably appreciate the buffet.  Not to mention a comfortable bed.  Hands that weren’t going to hurt him for a change. 

Dean was so full, but he felt the guilt gnawing at him and he forced himself from the bed, staggering to his bag and bringing his laptop back with him.  Undoing his pants to gain a little breathing room for his food baby, Dean flopped on the bed again.  He kept one hand on his stomach and slowly manned the computer with his right. 

There were no current feeds to watch of Castiel.  The next live session would be tomorrow night.  Dean had paid for it and already sent in his custom requests.  Sam had helped him write it, trying to make Dean seem like someone who approved of the way Cas was being treated. Rewriting the parts that Dean had made too lenient, Sam argued it was better to be believable, saying they’d hurt Cas anyway even if Dean didn’t specify it that way.  Dean got that, but hated the idea of writing in the abuse.  It felt too much like granting permission.  All he cared about was them getting the important stuff at the beginning right. 

Selecting one of the few remaining old videos he had left to get through, Dean saw it was different immediately.  Only it wasn’t a location change like the one with the freezer.  Cas was with two _women_ in lingerie and heels. 

Their faces weren’t covered and Dean quickly took screen shots.  Cas was wearing a black, long-sleeved t-shirt.  It was too big on him.  Dean was confused for a minute until he concluded it was probably there to prevent the women from seeing all of his injuries.    

They were slender and attractive, fondling and kissing each other in front of Cas who was blindfolded.  There was a metal cock ring snug at the base of Cas’s cock.  It surprised Dean that he had a raging boner.  He couldn’t even see how hot they were.  Usually it took a lot of stimulation to get Cas going, but, to be fair, no one was currently hurting him.  When the women touched him they were a bit rough, but it was gentle compared to his usual treatment. 

With his hands tied in front of him and being unable to see, Cas allowed the women to direct him.  Sometimes he didn’t hear them and they had to repeat themselves.  He didn’t answer their orders or taunts.  They pushed him backwards to sit on a platform Dean had seen used before, then forced him onto his back.  Castiel groaned when one of them latched his tied hands above his head and Dean thought of his most likely fractured ribs.

Climbing up to join him, the woman with dark, auburn hair stood over Cas and ground her stiletto against his dick like she was stubbing out a cigarette.

 _“You’re so hard already.  You like it when we hurt you, angel?”_ The redhead crooned while her blonde companion fastened herself into a strap-on. 

 _“Yes,”_ Cas responded automatically. 

Dean recognized the lie born out of fear and felt foolish for considering that Cas was into what was happening.  Though their hands weren’t hurting, Cas still strayed from the touch as blondie trailed fingers up his thighs. 

Twisting his wrists, Castiel strained against his bound hands, freezing when Red firmly planted her heel at his throat.

_“Stay still now, good boy.  Let Shauna get you buckled in so we can play.”_

Cas’s legs were still dangling over the edge and _Shauna_ strapped his ankles to the side of the platform, straightening up and standing in between them.  Her hands went to his ass, teasing fingers sinking inside and plucking at his rim. 

 _“Oh, he likes that,”_ Red asserted as she tugged her thong aside and lowered herself to sit on Cas’s face.  _“Let’s put that tongue to use, angel.”_

Leaning forward, she grabbed at his cock, manicured nails digging into delicate flesh.  While Red was clawing at Cas’s balls and grinding into his face, Shauna thrust into him, pounding away with a forcefulness that surprised Dean.    

Shifting to get more comfortable on the bed, Dean tilted the screen forward.  Shauna had some sort of tattoo on her thigh and Dean was trying to figure out what the hell it was as she moved.  It was very simple.  An outline of an animal, maybe a cat. 

Shedding her flimsy bra, Shauna pulled the redhead into a sloppy kiss.

_“Come ride him while I fuck him.”_

Red shuffled forward on her knees until she was straddling Cas.  With a quick move, she guided herself down onto him with a moan and the two of them started undulating together, rubbing, touching, kissing. 

While Shauna spouted a stream of encouragements to the woman in front of her, Red tugged at her own nipples and massaged her clit as she rocked back and forth.  She was enthusiastically vocal throughout her performance and moaned loudly when she switched to lifting her hips instead of rolling them. 

Cas made a strangled noise and—oh, fuck!  _Cas!_   Dean stared at the screen, repulsed.  Cas was being raped and Dean was half hard watching.  Scrambling from the bed, Dean stumbled to the bathroom, tripping over himself as he rushed to escape, feeling nauseous.  All the crap he had eaten earlier churned like stormy waters desperate to expel previously devoured contents from their depths. 

Dean leaned over the sink, palms flat on the counter, grounding him.  He took a few deep breaths. 

It was an accident.  He hadn’t meant to, but with Cas primarily covered and impressively quiet, Dean had gotten too focused on the women having a good time.  Still, Dean was pretty sure he just catapulted himself to the top of the list of Worst People on the Planet. 

Disgust wilted his erection in record speed.  Ignoring the explanations his brain offered as excuses for his behavior, Dean stuck with the self-loathing.  He lingered longer than he needed to in the bathroom, afraid of the arousal returning.  When he trusted himself enough to approach the computer, Dean moved it to the table to watch.  He couldn’t let himself get comfortable.  Couldn’t let his traitorous body think he was settling in to jerk off. 

One look at Cas was all it took. 

His face was flushed under the blindfold and his chin and lips were glistening in places, still wet from the redhead.  They were unhooking him from the platform and Cas moved his tied arms stiffly from above his head.  Shauna helped him sit up and they walked him away from the platform to a free standing tub. 

It was still the same room Cas was always in, but the deep soaker tub was a new addition and Dean frowned at it because there was no plumbing attached.  It was full of water though and Shauna climbed in holding a dildo.  Getting Cas over the edge and into her lap was complicated since he couldn’t see what he was doing and had to trust their orders.  Dean was surprised Cas was still so hard, and it occurred to him that they had probably given him pills to help with that.

Eventually, Castiel was settled between Shauna’s legs with the silicone cock back inside him again.  At least, that was the impression Dean got from what was said.  It was impossible to tell through the distortion of the water.  There was a reason tubs weren’t featured as often as showers in porn.

Shauna slipped her hands under Castiel’s wet shirt to feel his chest as she held his back to her stomach.  The drenched fabric rode up with the movement, revealing more of his damaged skin.  Dean saw Shauna’s hands pause at the sight and then slink back down to rest gently at his waist.

She looked a little spooked as Red pressed her fingers to Cas’s forehead, tipping his head back onto Shauna’s shoulder and telling him to relax.  Dean thought Cas looked even more tense, but he followed the direction, squirming when Shauna wrapped an arm across his chest, pinning his arms in place. 

The second woman stepped into the far end of the tub, sinking to her knees and causing the water level to rise above Cas’s shoulders.  He craned his neck away from the threat and his breathing went abnormally rapid causing him to cough and then groan.  Shauna shushed him while Red dropped her hands under the surface, causing the water to splash as she made jerky movements with her arm. 

 _“Bet I could fit fingers in along with this fat cock, make enough room for my whole fist,”_ Red said, as she inched forward between their legs, watching Castiel and then nodding to Shauna.

They both moved at once, pulling and pushing Cas down until his head was under the water.  Dean had expected it from the moment he saw the tub, but he still cringed as Cas writhed as best he could, sloshing water everywhere in his wild desperation. 

Painfully long seconds passed with Cas still submerged and struggling. 

Dean knew Cas was going to survive since this was essentially a rerun, but he was still intent on the scene, sighing in relief when the women relaxed and Castiel’s face broke the surface.  Gulping air, Cas still floundered, unable to push himself up with his hands tied in front of him.  He reached blindly towards the edge of the tub, but slipped under again.  Red pushed him down further. 

 _“Stop!  Stop, he didn’t get enough air,”_ Shauna almost shouted, shoving at the redhead and grabbing Cas under the arms and lifting him from the water.  She pushed him towards the side and he clung onto it, coughing up water while Shauna patted his back and watched him, looking scared.

Red was distracted, gazing at something off screen, but then she slid closer to the two of them and placed a hand on Shauna’s arm. 

_“He’s fine.  Boy likes it rough.  C’mon, tell her you want it, angel.”_

_“No.  Fuck you,”_ Shauna said, wrestling the blindfold off of Cas and keeping him steady as he hung over the side, trembling and coughing as he tried to catch his breath. 

Someone must have said something from behind the camera, because both women looked just above it.

Shauna stood from the tub, climbing out easily.

 _“I don’t_ care _. Keep the fucking money,”_ she said, stalking out of the frame.

“Yes!”  Dean exclaimed in agreement, jabbing his fist in the air like tennis players did when they had no one to high-five.  _Finally_ , a human being with some decency.  It was a tad too little, too late, but it was nice to know that not everyone would try and drown a stranger for money.  Well, not twice anyway.

 _“I’ll keep going if you give me her cut,”_ Red offered with a shrug, while Cas stared at the floor, hair and sleeves dripping profusely.

Dean didn’t get a chance to be pissed.  Someone was knocking at the door and Sam called into him at the same time.

Swinging the door open, Dean grinned at Sam as the realization hit him all at once.

Sam walked in, giving Dean a strange look.

“What are you so happy about?”

“The _girl_ , Sam.  This chick in the video with Cas.  She knows where he is and she felt guilty.  I’ve got her name, her picture, identifying tattoos!”  Dean ticked them off on his fingers.  It felt like such a solid lead.  “We find this girl—we find Cas,” Dean said confidently, ignoring the splashing sound coming from his laptop.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My deep-web savvy friend, HazelDomain, pointed out that with all the illegal activity it would make a lot more sense for the website Dean is on to use a form of virtual currency, something like Bitcoin. I only make a vague reference to money/payments in this chapter, but I changed a few sentences back in chapter 4 where I had originally mentioned credit cards. It doesn't alter the plot, but it makes the story line a touch more realistic since there are no simple credit card transactions occurring now. Thanks, Hazel, for keeping me borderline credible with this stuff! 
> 
> This chapter would have been posted sooner if I hadn't mislead myself into thinking I had less written than I did. Somehow I had two chapters in a row labeled Chapter 7 in my Word document and it took me far too long to realize. I always like to stay several chapters ahead of posting for my own sanity, because posting one with nothing else written would be WAY too much pressure for my tiny brain to handle. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks for all the love! <3


	8. Chapter 8

 

Both hunters were up early the next morning. 

Dean beat Sam into the shower and Sam could hear snatches of him singing off-key. 

Sam knew his brother was feeling optimistic again about finding Cas.  He had launched into it the second Sam got in the door last night.  It really was a stroke of luck that the woman, Shauna, had gotten cold feet about what they wanted her to do.  Initially Sam was baffled as Dean explained, not understanding why the video was posted at all when it went so off script.  That was just one of the dangers of live theater.  They figured the only reason the footage was still online at all was because the other woman was happy to continue on her own and sort of saved the scene.

None of that mattered though.  Dean was right.  They could work with the information and Dean had been on the phone with Charlie, sending her the link and screen shots of Shauna and her tattoo.  Charlie insisted it was a fox, not a cat as Dean claimed. 

The date on the video was less than two weeks ago.  If Shauna was still working somewhere in Las Vegas, they were going to find her. 

Sam was in the process of compiling a list of escort agencies and other similarly themed businesses as a starting place for locating Shauna.  With a nickname like Sin City, Las Vegas was essentially the adult entertainment capital of the world and Sam was staring at the beginning of a very long list.

“You’re up, Sam,” Dean said, emerging from the bathroom in his boxers. 

“Yeah, okay.  Hang on a sec.”

Dean was donning clothing when a video call came in.

“It’s Kevin,” Sam said, waving Dean over and answering the call.  “Hey.  You’re up early.”

“Haven’t gone to bed yet,” Kevin corrected with a sigh.  Charlie was sitting next to him cradling a mug in her hands. 

“We knew you two can only do your FBI LARPing during the day, so Kev and I took the night shift.  Figured it was in our best interests to have people working the Cas conundrum ’round the clock.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Dean agreed.

“Speaking of, you should know that with the two of us staying caffeinated we’re dangerously low on coffee.  And Charlie ate all the sugar related junk food in the bunker.”

“Hey, there are things I missed in Oz and caffeine is like HP to me.  If I’m going into battle, I need to be fueled up.”

“Is my dark French roast all gone?”

Sam rolled his eyes while Kevin looked guilty and Charlie pulled a face like she couldn’t quite remember.

“We’ll buy you more coffee, Dean.  Is it safe to assume you two were calling to update us before you crash?”

“Yes,” Charlie blurted, turning excited eyes towards Dean.  “I couldn’t find anything on Shauna in the city’s police database, so I pulled lots more screen shots of this mystery woman, different angles of her face, and hacked into the surveillance feeds for two of the most frequented casinos in Vegas.  Borrowing a bit of facial recognition technology from the Department of State, I searched for Shauna and her evil redheaded colleague too.”

“You can do that?” Dean asked, sounding shocked.

“Yeah, where have you been hiding her?  She’s insane,” Kevin commented.

“I _can_ , but I can’t do everything at once, so I recruited a friend to help with the time crunch.  She loves any excuse to sneak one past Uncle Sam.  It’s kind of her specialty.  Well, that and baklava.”

Sam could feel impatience radiating from Dean as he waited for Charlie to get to the part of the story pertaining to Cas.  He tried to nudge her back on track.

“So you’ve got your friend working on it too.  That’s great, Charlie.  How long do you think it’ll take to have any kind of result?”

“Results obtained, my friend.  Shauna was at the MGM Grand two nights ago.  It’s the largest casino there, but I bet you two can get some more information from the staff.  I emailed you stills from the camera so you can see who there might have seen or interacted with her.  With any luck, she’s a regular.”

“Charlie, you’re a genius.”

“If I had an Altairian Dollar for every time I heard that,” Charlie grinned.  “But wait, there’s more!  Tell him what else he’s won, Kev.”

“While Charlie was doing all the fancy footwork, I got stuck with calling dozens of, uh, establishments that might have been employing Shauna.  I gave her name and description, trying to see if anyone might recognize who I was talking about.  Said I hired her before, but couldn’t remember what agency she was with.  Anyway, it took hours, but we got a hit there too.  Pamela over at Emerald Escorts seemed to think Shauna was one of theirs.”

“Wow,” Sam said, impressed that the old school research yielded results. 

“So that’s it?  You found her?”

“Well, yeah, pretty much.  You just have to track her down in person now…”  Charlie hesitated.  “Are you okay, Dean?”

“Yeah, no, yeah, I’m good.  I just—I wasn’t expecting you both to get results so quickly.  It’s awesome.  Thank you.  You both earned that coffee.”

Sam was scrutinizing Dean who still looked more shocked than happy.  Recognizing that he was being stared at, Dean glanced at Sam and then back at the monitor.

“So, I’m ready to go,” he started, clapping his hands together, “but Sam has been sitting here in his underwear this whole time.  You gonna get showered so we can go check this stuff out, man?  Cause if you’re not ready in 15 minutes I’m leaving your ass behind.” 

“No worries, Sam.  I do some of my best work in my pajamas.  No judgement here,” Charlie sympathized.

“Yeah, just relax, Dean.  I’ll go get ready.”  Sam turned back to the screen.  “Look, we can’t thank you guys enough for all your hard work, get some sleep and I’ll text you both with an update later.” 

“Wait, instead of referring to us as ‘guys’ could we maybe say ‘team’ instead?  And while we’re talking about team names, I vote for Charlie’s Angels and it’s not just because I’m the mastermind and you’d all look good in heels, but also because—”

“Because Sam has the Farrah Fawcett hair?” Dean finished Charlie’s thought.

“Yes!  I was going to say Drew Barrymore, but same idea.”

“On that note, I’m going to bed,” Kevin said, pushing himself up from the table.

“Well, good hustle, Kev.  And, Charlie, aces as always,” Dean said giving them a thumbs up.

“Yeah, talk later,” Sam agreed, ending the call before he stood up. 

Dean was still staring at where their faces had disappeared.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good.  I, uh, I guess I forgot what it’s like to have so much support.  Used to have… well, you know, it’s just refreshing to have help,” Dean finished.

Sam knew exactly how he felt. 

 

 

The day didn’t go the way that Sam was envisioning.  When they arrived at the office of Emerald Escorts it was closed and wouldn’t be open until late afternoon.  Fortunately, the casinos were open 24 hours.  So they rerouted to the MGM Grand, but the morning staff didn’t recognize their printed images of Shauna.  They left one of the pictures, telling the manager to contact them if she showed up.

Rather than let Dean pout through lunch, Sam pulled up information on his phone about pawn shops nearby.  He’d had the thought last night when he was out walking and passed one, but hadn’t gotten a chance to mention it to Dean with the excitement over this Shauna woman. 

“Feel like visiting some pawn shops?”

Dean was busy drowning a french fry in a puddle of ketchup.  Instead of transferring it to his mouth, he kept dragging it around and responded without looking up. 

“What for?”

“Look for Cas’s angel blade.  You said they had it in that early video, but you haven’t seen it since, right?  It’s unique, probably figured it’s valuable.  I’m guessing they sold it,” Sam said, sipping his iced tea.  “There are a lot of pawn shops here, but most of them are part of a chain so we should be able to hit one and inquire about their inventory.  The handful of independent shops should only take a couple of hours.”

Dean shrugged one shoulder and took a swallow of beer.

“It could lead to info on Cas,” Sam said, trying to sweeten the pot.  He was really starting to get whiplash from Dean’s yo-yoing emotions.

“They probably sold it online.”

“Not necessarily.  There’d be nothing to compare it to.  I think they’d want to get it evaluated in person, even if they decided not to sell.  Get an expert opinion on it.  Besides, it’s like the only possession Cas has, don’t you think he’d like to have it back?” 

That seemed to resonate with Dean and he wiped his hands on a napkin, crumpled it up, and dropped it onto his plate. 

“Yeah, okay.  Let’s check it out.” 

 

Sam knew Dean was struggling with guilt and depression over what Cas was going through and he understood that.  Though Sam felt less responsible, he was plenty worried about Cas too.  Their lack of progress locating Cas had been frustrating to say the least.  Only watching parts of a few videos had been enough to concern Sam. 

The extent of physical, sexual, and emotional trauma Cas was going through was staggering and Sam wasn’t convinced that they’d be prepared to help him.  He wasn’t sure that Dean understood how damaged Cas would probably be when they finally got to him.  Sam was trying to mentally prepare himself and he emailed Charlie as Dean drove, asking for her help again.  Maybe she could research for them.

The Winchester Way of not dealing with feelings was not going to fly for Cas.  Sam felt certain of that.  Cas had spent far too many years of his long existence without real emotions and as far as Sam knew he had next to zero experience in processing them.  No way could they tell him to rub some dirt on it and walk it off.  And Sam didn’t want to tell him that.  He just didn’t know what they would do instead.

 

The pawn shops were a bust.  No one had seen an item matching that description, but they successfully killed time until they could return to the escort office. 

The woman, Lori, who greeted them was young and immediately intimidated by their badges.  Sam adopted his best ‘you-can-trust-me-I-work-for-the-good-guys’ expression to try and soften Dean’s aggressive approach.  Wasting the past few hours driving around in the unseasonable heat hadn’t helped Dean’s mood at all.  Sam hadn’t enjoyed sweating through his dress-shirt as they schlepped from one pawn shop to another either, but he wasn’t about to let it affect his performance.

In the end, they got a last name on Shauna, a P.O. box, and a phone number.  She was scheduled to work with a client in the evening, but Lori didn’t know where they would be.  Dean left, shaking his head at the lack of immediate results, leaving Sam to wrap things up.

“Thanks for your help,” Sam said with a smile.

“You know, she has a second job,” Lori offered uncertainly.

“Oh?  Would you mind giving me the details?”

 

 

Shading his face with his hand, Dean was standing next to the car, but not leaning against the hot metal.  His tie was undone, hanging unevenly around his neck.  The top two buttons of his shirt were open and Dean had draped his jacket over the rolled down window.

“Dude, what took you so long?  It’s hotter than hell and half of Georgia out here.”

“ _I_ was being thorough.  Shauna has a second job,” Sam reported as he took off his jacket and climbed into the steamy car.  He didn’t bother with the seatbelt—the car had been baking in the sun for too long already. 

“Is she there now?”

“Nope, but she will be tomorrow.  Her shift starts at 2pm.  And she’s your favorite kind of dancer.”

Sam turned his sleeves back to his elbows and ran a hand through his hair.  He would never admit it to Dean, but sometimes when it was really hot, he thought he’d like his hair cut shorter. 

“Yeah, well good.  We’ll have to stop by.  For now, I want a shower and all the cooling comforts of air conditioning.”

 

 

After showers and dinner, they returned to the MGM Grand and killed a few hours strolling through the massive casino on the off chance Shauna might be around.  Sam texted Jodi to see if she knew anyone in law enforcement in Las Vegas.  The sheriff admitted to having been once, years ago, but it was unrelated to work and far from her home.  She didn’t have any connections.

It was important to Sam that the people who were holding Castiel captive got what they deserved.  He knew Dean didn’t want to involve the police, but Sam was absolutely making sure evidence would be left so a case could be built against these men.  They couldn’t get away with it—Cas may not have been the first person they did this to, but he would definitely be the last.       

Sam spotted Dean sitting sideways at a slot machine, absorbed in his phone instead of keeping an eye out.

“What’s that?” Sam asked as he stopped beside him.

“The picture of Cas that Charlie texted this morning.”

Sam peered over Dean’s shoulder.  It was just a close-up of Castiel’s face.  It looked like a screenshot from one of the early videos.  Surprisingly, Cas didn’t look upset in it. 

“I didn’t get one.  What’s it for?”

“In case we need a current photo of Cas to show people.  She said she sent it to both of us.”

“Oh, yeah, you know I got an email from her with a couple attachments earlier,” Sam lied.  “I bet it was part of that.”

Dean seemed content to accept that and touched the screen to keep Castiel visible when it started to darken.  

Deciding to give Dean a minute, Sam checked his own phone, texting Kevin to let him know that they were hoping to get a hold of Shauna sometime tomorrow.  He emailed Charlie asking her to compile any type of data that would incriminate the men responsible.

“Let’s call it a night and get outta here, Sammy.  Cas’ll be on soon,” Dean said, pocketing his phone and walking away. 

 

 

Back at the motel, they sat together in front of Dean’s laptop, watching the countdown to the live feed.  Sam felt nervous and he could tell Dean was on edge too.  His apprehension was palpable as he moved restlessly in his seat.

By paying to call the shots they were essentially responsible for everything that happened to Cas tonight.  Sam was reflecting on what he and Dean had written into their request and worrying about all the ways it could go wrong or be made worse.  The beginning was the only part that really mattered though. 

It started on schedule and Cas was strapped to a table with no blindfold or gag the way they wanted. 

“Good start,” Sam said while Dean nodded wordlessly.

The man on screen with Cas had a knife.

“Oh, what is that?  We didn’t tell him to do that,” Dean complained.

“Don’t know.”

Sam watched as he sliced into the crook of Castiel’s arm and let the blood gradually collect in a bowl.  It wasn’t what they asked for, but Sam understood.

“They’re using his blood instead of wax.”

“Not what I paid for.”

“Maybe they thought it went with our satanic cult theme a little better,” Sam reasoned.  It was more of a violent beginning than they wanted, but it would still work.

Castiel looked terrible.  He was pale and thin, with a bone-weary appearance of exhaustion, like he hadn't slept in a week.  Sam wondered yet again how Dean could stand watching all those videos with him suffering. 

Unperturbed by his bleeding arm, Cas remained still and, apparently, uninterested as the man briefly set his palm into the shallow bowl of blood and withdrew it.  He gripped Castiel’s left shoulder, staining it red with a smeared handprint. 

_“A tight grip will raise you from perdition.”_

Cas didn’t look at his arm or react at all when the man spoke.

“How did he not get that?!”  Dean asked, slamming a fist into the table.

“Oh shit, Dean.  The gun.  The guy didn’t say it loud enough.  Cas didn’t _hear_ it.”

Dean cursed, and Sam pulled the laptop closer, jumping onto the open chat window and complaining that the ‘angel’ needed to hear what was being said to him.  A couple other users echoed his comment and Sam hoped that would be enough to get him to speak up next time.  They still had a shot at this.

The guy had moved on and he dipped his fingertip into the blood and began drawing on Castiel’s chest.  Fortunately, Cas was watching as a star was drawn and enclosed by a circle.

“He sees it,” Dean breathed, staring rapt at the screen as the man added sloppy flames around the edge.

Castiel glanced at his shoulder and then back to the completed anti-possession symbol, tilting his head in a way that almost had Sam smiling.

 _“This will protect you from demons, angel,”_ the man said, louder this time. 

Castiel narrowed his eyes at the words, watching the man. 

Sam felt sure he must have gotten it. 

Cas studied his chest, staring for a long moment at the quickly drying blood, before he looked right at the camera, eyes wide and wary.  His lips moved before he managed to make a sound.

_“Dean?”_

“YES! Cas, yes!  It’s us!  We’re coming to get you, man.  I promise.”

A relieved grin had slipped onto Dean’s face, but Sam only groaned.  They should have gagged him.  It was supposed to be a secret message for a reason. 

Cas was still looking at the camera in disbelief, like he was waiting for an answer, when the man smacked his chest to get his attention.

_“Who you talking to, angel?”_

Impossibly, Castiel paled further.  Realizing his mistake, he suddenly looked terrified.  He shook his head slightly, adam’s apple bobbing furiously.

_“Nn—nobody.”_

“Shit.  We just got Cas into trouble,” Dean lamented, dropping his head into his hands.

Sam agreed, worried and wishing he wasn’t watching live. 

If the men knew this was a message to Cas there was no way they’d continue with the lenient things Sam and Dean had requested.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of Sam perspective for you. 
> 
> And a whole new perspective is coming next chapter. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really meant to update this sooner, but when I tried to read the chapter one more time last night, I couldn't keep my eyes open. I was so exhausted. Busy weekend. 
> 
> Anyway, dear, sweet **Jack_in_a_Tardis** made the following amazing artwork. It's not so much based on the fic as it is legitimate protection from the fic. At the request of **Nycx** who sought refuge in **Xilu82** 's blanket fort, you all now have somewhere safe to hide and read the story. **Jack_in_a_Tardis** assures me it will help protect you from all the feels. So get in the blanket fort to keep safe and be certain to leave some love for this amazing artist/guardian!! (Snacks are okay, teddy bears encouraged)
> 
>  
> 
> [](http://imgur.com/h474JbC)  
> 

 

Castiel closed his eyes. 

“Tell me who Dean is.”

He wanted to take a deep breath.  It used to help him calm down, but now it just hurt.  He tried to slow his shallow breathing. 

He shouldn’t have said Dean’s name. 

He wasn’t supposed to talk at all, but that _symbol_.  It was a little crooked, drying to a dark red on his chest.   It was the same as Dean’s.  Both Winchesters had the anti-possession tattoo.  Even if the men had come across it somewhere else, they wouldn’t have drawn it in nearly the same spot.  It had to be Dean. 

The handprint on his shoulder made it obvious too, once he noticed it.  Both were too specific to be a coincidence.  Did it mean Dean was looking for him?

“You hear me, angel?”

The voice was louder and a hand was at his throat, not hurting, but threatening.  Castiel quickly focused on the man above him.  His name was Trav.  Whether that was a first or last name or short for something, Castiel didn’t know.  It was just what the others called him.  He only knew the names of some of the men.  The rest he had invented names for. 

“Yes.”

He’d have to keep his answers short to avoid getting into further trouble. 

“Who is Dean?”

Castiel didn’t want to talk about Dean.  He hated hearing Trav say his name.  He hated it when he didn’t know how he was supposed to answer.

“H-he’s not—it’s no one,” Castiel tried, worried about the knife. Trav had set it down, but it wasn’t far away. 

“You want me to get the pliers and take a third fingernail?”

Castiel curled his hands into fists, hiding his fingers. 

No.  That had been terrible. 

They had done it to see if they could, undecided on whether to include it in one of the shows.

Castiel floundered since he wasn’t allowed to say no.  The threat was supposed to result in an answer.

“A f-friend.  He was a, a friend,” Castiel said, resolutely avoiding looking at the camera. 

He never looked at it unless they told him to.  The drawing on his chest had shocked him and in his disbelief he’d stared right at the lens, wondering if, somewhere, there was a pair of green eyes staring back at him. 

Of course, Dean’s eyes weren’t simply green.  They were emerald and olive, almond and honey, like sun kissed sea grass.  At least, Castiel thought they were.  His memory wasn’t as good as it used to be. 

All the colors in his prison were dull and drab and dark.  The most vibrant color he saw was in his blood, but even that dimmed and he was sick of seeing it.  

He hadn’t seen a beautiful shade of green in a long while.  Or the sun.  He missed both.

Castiel realized that Mal had come over to stand next to Trav and he couldn’t help tensing under his restraints.  Trav was bad, enthusiastic when inflicting pain, but if Castiel had to choose, he thought Mal was the worst.  Trav liked to hurt, but Mal liked to play games.  The others all seemed to defer to the two of them and Castiel got the distinct impression that they were in charge of the whole operation. 

“Why did those finger paintings make you think your friend was watching?”  Mal asked while dragging a hand up the inside of Castiel’s leg and watching him.

Castiel glanced at the camera still recording.  He didn’t want to talk about Dean. 

He tried not to think about Dean. 

The hunter used to be on his mind a lot.  Castiel used to dream about seeing him again, but that fantasy had shriveled and atrophied.  It had become too outlandish to hope for.  Dean hadn’t wanted him when he became powerless.  He wouldn’t want him now.  Castiel knew how weak he’d gotten. 

Still, he shouldn’t reveal anything about Dean to these men. 

A heavy hand settled over his aching ribs and Castiel knew he had taken too long to respond.  He whimpered as Mal leaned over him, putting pressure on his ribs and then pushing.  Sharp, hot pain exploded in his chest, eclipsing the usual dull throb he had been constantly forced to endure. 

Castiel was gasping and then coughing, desperately trying to pull air into his protesting lungs.  Dimly, he became aware that the pressure had relented and the pain had subsided to something more bearable, but it still took him a minute to stop coughing and get his breathing under control.

Mal was speaking to him again.  It was a challenge to focus on his words.  Castiel wished they’d just get on with what they intended to do and forget the conversation.

“Tell me about the doodles,” Mal ordered, fingers swirling purposefully over his bruised skin.

Dean wouldn’t forgive him at this point anyway.

“Tattoos.  Th-those were… his tattoos.  I, I… recognized them,” Castiel choked out.

“That’s good, angel,” Mal said, gripping Castiel’s chin and turning his face towards the camera.  He licked up his neck and along his cheek.  “Your friend Dean is one of our best customers.  _Loves_ to watch.  Guess he wanted you to know he’s enjoying the show.  You should know he’s seen _all_ your performances and he paid _a_ _lot_ to choose what we’re about to do to you.”

It had been a while since Castiel had wanted to hide his face, but he suddenly felt overwhelmed. 

Dean was watching.

_Dean had seen._

He had seen all the horrible things Castiel had done.

He’d been there for so long. 

With no daylight and men visiting him at all hours, Castiel had lost track of the number of days.  When he was able to sleep, he had no way to measure the passing of time.  The nightmares, both real and imagined, woke him regularly.  When they drugged him, he could never be sure of how long he’d been out. 

He estimated it was months in the cellar, though it felt like longer.  Hundreds of millions of years as an angel and he’d never experienced time at such a painfully slow crawl.

If Dean had seen all of it…

If Dean knew what was happening, had been watching since that first video, then it should have been enough time to find him.  Which meant...

_Dean knew and hadn’t come._

Castiel felt hot and dizzy, like the very air was suffocating him.  Immense caverns of hurt tore open in his chest and he felt like he might cry. 

“Stay with us, angel.”

There was a hand on his arm, it might have been causing pain, he couldn’t be sure.  It wasn’t enough to drown out the relentless ruin ravaging his insides.  He needed something else to focus on besides the fact the Dean knew and didn’t care.

“Please.  Please hurt me.”

He needed an excuse for the tears he was barely holding back.

There was laughter and someone was praising him.  Castiel used to think laughter was always a happy sound, but whenever he heard it recently he felt sick.  Humans.  Humans were so much more complex than he originally thought. 

Strong hands were cupping his face and through his spotty vision he was able to focus on Mal.

“This is from Dean.  He wanted to make sure you don’t escape.”

Castiel didn’t care what it was as long as it hurt.  Anything to distract him from the gaping fissure piercing through him. 

Pain burst in his ankle, blacking his vision completely as it snaked up his leg.  Castiel let himself scream and cry, clinging to the fresh damage like it was a building from which he might fall. 

The injury had staying power.  Castiel felt it anew when he tentatively moved his leg.  It was enough.  He realized he was detaching well when he found himself bent over the table instead of strapped to it, unable to remember getting there.

Comparatively it was easy after that.  He didn’t have to do much besides keep his mouth open and his legs spread.  Agree with statements and questions he’d heard before. 

Mal mentioned Dean a few times, demanding his attention and raising his voice so he could insist Dean would appreciate how Castiel felt or looked.  In response, and despite the fact that he was essentially being held up, Castiel would shift weight to his injured leg, triggering tremors that yanked him back from reality and gave him something else to focus on.

Occasionally, it happened the other way.  Pain would drag him out of his dark hiding place and thrust him back into the overwhelming present where his own cries surprised him.  

Eventually, everything seemed still.

Castiel became aware that it was quieter.  His body felt stiff and achy.  His stomach was sore from the way he was still pressed across the table. 

No one was touching him. 

Tentatively, he moved and felt new injuries announcing themselves.  Perhaps foolishly, he wasted energy on wiping his face with the back of his hand.  His arms were heavy as he pushed himself up from the hard surface of the table.  He’d barely strayed from his right angle positioning when his wrecked leg gave out, sending him slumping and groaning to the floor. 

The pain in his ankle was surpassing every other injury at the moment, but Castiel was conscious of the fact that his lower back and ass hurt too.  He gingerly felt for his plug and found it in place, but he couldn’t remember if he had been wearing it at the beginning.  He could feel stinging welts on his cheeks and upper thighs, but his whole backside was radiating a deeper pain too.  It had been a while since they fucked him without half-way decent prep, but that must have been what happened. 

Attempting to adjust to a more comfortable position ignited the pain in his ankle, so Castiel kept still, feeling sweaty and hot against the cool concrete. 

The tinny ringing he’d heard for two days straight after the gunshots was manifesting as a raspy humming noise now.  It was always louder in the silence.  After straining to listen for a few minutes, Castiel concluded he was alone.  It was a bit surprising since there was a corner of the basement they usually locked him in.  It had a small bathroom and his blanket.

Castiel didn’t think he’d make it there even if he crawled.

They had been right in assuming there was no need to lock him in this time.  Even so it was still shocking that not even his hands were tied.  He was too weak to escape.  A memory of Mal popped into his head, promising, as he had more than once, that no one would find him here. 

Castiel believed him.  

Dean would’ve been the only person who might have bothered to look for him, but he was watching and participating.

The niggling crack of pain in his chest ruptured again and Castiel cried against the concrete, wishing the men had left him unconscious.  He was so very tired.

 

 

    

Someone was moving Castiel.   Unskillfully hoisting him back onto the cold table and causing chills to course through him.  He couldn’t have been asleep much time at all.  Longing to object to the movements on behalf of his aching body, Castiel just muttered please.

_Please stop._

_Please show mercy._

_Please don’t hurt me._

The man rolled him onto his back and Castiel forced his eyes open.  It was only Bruce.

If he had any spare breath he might have laughed, because it was only Bruce.

Bruce who came around fairly regularly and his only weird thing was how he enthusiastically choked Castiel while he fucked him.  It was only him and in some weird, unfair way that was better than other alternatives.  Maybe he’d get too carried away this time.  Maybe Castiel’s lungs wouldn’t be able to handle the lack of oxygen.  His chest already felt so hollow and barren, surely it wouldn’t survive further emptiness. 

Inhaling was already unbearable.

While Bruce moved above him, the pain in his lower half plagued him until fingers closed around his throat and an abrupt absence of air overrode every other sensation.  Castiel couldn’t help but struggle and fight back. 

When he could finally suck in deep, frantic breaths to make up for his cut off air supply, it burned his lungs and left him in a fit of agonized coughing.  Bruce only put him through it twice more before finishing, handcuffing his wrists together, and leaving him in the dark.

Castiel stayed on the table, worried his legs wouldn’t support him if he tried to climb off.  He had gotten sweaty with Bruce, but once his coughing subsided he quickly felt cold and shaky again.

Hugging his arms in close to his chest, Castiel’s hand brushed along the now unrecognizable copy of Dean’s tattoo.  His skin itched slightly under the still intact sections of dried blood.  Castiel traced the remains with a finger before feeling along his arm for the handprint.  There was even less of that left, but he gripped his shoulder anyway, covering the mangled recreation with his own palm and willing himself to think of anything besides the present. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the blanket fort helped! This chapter was the saddest to write. Poor Cas. The author can say that, right?
> 
> Endless thanks to **Jack_in_a_Tardis** for creating a lovely and colorful safe haven for all the readers I have traumatized. Hopefully being cocooned in blankets will ease any pain I've caused. Thanks so much for taking the time and sharing your talent with us!


	10. Chapter 10

 

Sam had tried to turn it off when everything started going wrong, but Dean wouldn’t let him.  They had watched in silence as Cas was questioned.  Dean had shared a few choice words when Dick Number Two had gone for Castiel’s ribs and licked his face in a show of lewd possessiveness that Dean knew was just meant to piss him off. 

When he tried to make it sound like Dean was some kind of enthusiastic customer who wanted to see Cas in pain, Dean scoffed.  It was beyond ridiculous.  At least that was what Dean thought, until he saw Cas ask to be hurt without any prompting.  That was new and disturbing. 

Later, Dean watched that part again to make sure he hadn’t missed anything, but Cas had simply seemed miserable before saying the words.  Sam didn’t understand either.

They both felt like shit when the man swiftly struck Castiel’s ankle with a friggin’ baseball bat.   Dean didn’t like how quickly that weapon had come out of nowhere and he worried they might have used it on Cas before.  That concern was multiplied when the bat had quickly been exchanged for a hammer.  Dean was horrified all over again when they used the handle to brutally fuck Cas who furiously clutched his own hair and kept his eyes screwed shut unless they demanded he open them.

Throughout the whole thing Cas was a lot more ‘lights off’ rather than ‘on.’  Dean had seen him do that before, but not to such an extent and it fucking terrified him.  The bat came out again after the men were done and Cas suffered several blows to his buttocks and thighs.  Dean could tell they were holding back though and hell if that wasn’t like some sick kind of blessing, because they really could have done some permanent damage with a weapon like that.   

Cas wasn’t really responsive at all by the end and Dean hated not seeing any type of awareness in his eyes.  He and Sam drank together afterwards without saying much.  When his brother attempted commenting, it was never anything that made Dan feel any better so he told him to knock it off.  Eventually, Sam suggested they get some sleep, but Dean just couldn’t.

The whole point of reaching out to Cas was to keep his spirits up, but somehow they had achieved the opposite effect. 

Dean stayed up the whole night, spending most of his time at the one casino they knew Shauna had been to in the past.  Mostly it was supposed to make him feel like he was doing something, but Dean knew it was largely pointless.  There were dozens of casinos on the strip alone and Shauna could have been in any of them.  Or none of them.

In the early hours of the morning he got a text from Kevin.  All it said was, _Houses in Las Vegas don’t have basements._

When Kevin answered Dean’s call back, he didn’t sound sleepy at all.  

“Is there a reason you’re texting me this fun fact at four in the morning?”

“Yeah.  You guys think Cas is in some basement, right?”

“And you’re saying houses in Vegas don’t have basements?”

“Exactly.  Well, I’d say definitely less than ten percent.  Houses are more likely to have additions or three and four car garages.  It’s cheaper than digging down.”

“Are you trying to say Cas isn’t here?”

“No, not at all, but it’d be an additional way to try and find him since they’re rare,” Kevin explained, but Dean wasn’t getting it.

“So why didn’t you tell us this when we first got here?  Ten percent doesn’t sound like much, but it’s probably thousands of homes still.  It would take a lot of time—”

“I just found out about the basement, okay?  I never watched the videos.  You all said they were horrible and I didn’t want to see them…”

Dean couldn’t argue with that. 

“…But now that Charlie has it narrowed down to a smaller area—”

“She does?”

“Yeah.”  Kevin paused.  “Isn’t that why you’re still awake?  She emailed you both.  Weren’t you there when she called Sam like two hours ago?”

“Shit, no.  I have to get back to the motel.”

Dean was already on his feet, walking swiftly through the casino towards the exit.

“Are you really out gambling right now?  I thought I heard slot machines in the background.”

“No, I mean, yes, I’m at a casino, but only because I couldn’t sleep.  I was looking for that Shauna chick and… you know what, never mind, I have to go.”

Dean hung up and called Sam.

“Uh, hey Dean.”

“Why didn’t you call me when Charlie called you?”

“How do you know she called?  I thought she was going to bed?”

“Kevin.  He said she has a better location on Cas.  Why the hell wouldn’t you tell me?”

“Honestly?  I figured you were out drinking to forget.  Thought it could wait.”

Friggin’ typical.  He’d only had two goddamn drinks.

“Well, you were wrong.  Now catch me up.”

 

 

The way Sam explained it, the new information didn’t help that much. 

Charlie had narrowed Castiel’s location to an area of about five square miles.  While it was a staggering improvement over what they previously had to work from, it still covered a residential area that included hundreds of houses.  Even with Kevin’s tidbit about the basements, it’d take a lot of time to narrow it down to just those locations and then check them out. 

Dean thought they could maybe drive around anyway and just start looking for houses with basement windows while keeping an eye out for anything suspicious.  Sam shot down that idea, arguing that they’d be seeing Shauna in a few hours.  He was concerned the men might be more alert after their attempt to communicate with Cas and a ‘huge-ass Chevy’ inching through the neighborhood street by street might catch their attention. 

The last thing Dean wanted to do was tip those fuckers off.  He couldn’t risk them hurting Cas because of another mistake.

Waiting was a pain in the ass though.  Two o’clock couldn’t come quick enough, so Dean and Sam got to Shauna’s work an hour early, staking out the back employee entrance.  When she arrived at twenty of, Sam spotted her first and they both stopped her before she was able to enter the building.  A big guy came out almost right away to give them hell for bothering one of their dancers, but they flashed their badges to get rid of him.

Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, Shauna crossed her arms nervously.  

“Why do you want to talk to me?”

“You’re not in trouble,” Sam began, “We know you were involved in a low-budget, adult film a couple weeks ago.  You got uncomfortable with the subject matter and walked out.”

Sam had insisted that Dean let him do the talking, but he didn’t have time for his vagueness.  This chick could be making films all the time.

“He means you tried to drown a guy, but thought better of it.  Ring any bells?”

Dean could feel Sam’s annoyed look, but he kept his attention on Shauna who bit her lip.

“I’ve never done anything like that before, I swear.  The whole thing was bat-shit.  Connie didn’t tell me it’d be like that.  I didn’t like it, so I left.” 

“Look, we’re just trying to find the guy,” Sam said.  “You saw how he was being treated.  He needs help and we’ll get him out of there.  Just tell us where he is.”

“And I won’t get in trouble?”

Sighing, Dean brought his hands to his hips.  He was really going to lose it if this chick didn’t start talking. 

“You won’t get into trouble,” Sam assured her.  “Our priority is finding him.  So if you have any information on his location—”

“Yeah.  Yeah, okay.  I still have the address.  Are you going to arrest those assholes?”

“Oh, they’ll get what they deserve.  I can promise you that,” Dean said

 

 

After they had exhausted all of Shauna’s knowledge on what she could remember about the house and the basement they were keeping Cas in, they had gone back to the motel.  Packing up and checking out didn’t take long, and though Dean was glad he was driving them towards Castiel, he couldn’t help but feel nervous.  It was weird.  As much as he was ready to kick ass, put an end to this whole mess, and drive Cas at top speed back to the safety of the bunker, he also felt apprehensive about everything. 

Normally before a hunt, he would be amped up and ready to roll, but this was Castiel’s life on the line.  Dean didn’t feel nearly as confident.  Sam seemed a touch nervous too.  He had spent a long time sorting through grocery bags in the trunk of the car before they left.  Going through a verbal checklist of ‘where did I put those new bandages’ and ‘I managed to buy Cas socks, but forgot shoes.’ 

Eventually, Dean had to shove Sam aside to get to the weapons, because all that stuff he was blabbing on about was for _after_ they rescued Cas. 

Dean parked across the street and two doors down from the innocent looking house Cas was trapped in.  Scoping the place out, it seemed Shauna was right having said that the basement windows were boarded up.  Dean could only see one of them from their particular vantage point and there were some potted plants obscuring it from plain view.  Not including the windows, there was only one entrance to the basement.  Shauna had told them it was inside directly next to the side door.

There were two cars in the driveway.  They had only been watching the place for about half an hour when a third pulled up. 

“You recognize them?”

Craning his neck to get a better view, Dean tried to make out the features of the men approaching the front door.  It was hard to be sure from a distance and since, in the videos, they were always wearing masks. 

“The one guy looks sort of familiar, but I’m done waiting.” 

“What, you don’t want to wait till it’s dark?”

Dean shook his head as someone opened the door to let the men in.  “The sun doesn’t set for hours still… I can’t wait, Sam.” 

“Well, you’ll have to pull in front of the house so we can make a quick escape.  Cas probably can’t walk far.  And we’re wearing gloves,” Sam said, producing a pair of work gloves for both of them.  “Last thing we need is the cops picking up our prints.”

Taking the gloves, Dean considered that he and Sam weren’t quite on the same page.  Sam had spoken about his plan to have Charlie send a file of information to the Las Vegas police as soon as they got Cas out of there, like they’d leave these men to the police.  It was his brother’s attempt to avoid a blood bath, but Dean had zero reservations about shooting every last one of those men. 

Following Sam’s suggestion, Dean pulled the car closer and they exited as one, striding up the driveway to the side entrance.  Sam picked the lock while Dean peeked in the nearby windows for signs of movement.   He saw none.  He couldn’t hear anything either. 

Once Sam swung the door in, they saw they were close to the kitchen in between a bathroom and what had to be the basement.  There were three different locks on the door, but none of them were in use. 

Dean spared a glance at Sam to make sure he was ready with his gun out, before he turned the knob and quietly descended the stairs.  It smelled like sex and sweat in the basement and Dean’s anxiety turned to anger at the sound of low voices and flesh smacking together.  He took the last few steps quickly, turning his gun on the scene before him. 

The room was familiar, with the same poor lighting and cinderblock walls from the videos.  A man wearing only a shirt was standing in front of a sex swing, busy between Cas’s legs and not paying attention to anything behind him.  Dean shot him in the back of the head without a second thought.  He fell forward onto Cas, revealing another man, naked, near his head.

“FBI!” Sam yelled from next to Dean, pointing his gun at a third guy, standing further away.  “Drop the phone, get on your knees.”

The naked man still next to the swing sank to the floor, attempting to hide out of view behind Cas who wasn’t moving.  Keeping his gun on the cooperative kneeling man, Dean’s attention was diverted from Castiel’s seemingly unconscious form when Sam had to repeat the order.

“On your knees, now.”

Instead of compliance, Sam got a smirk.

“I don’t think you’re FBI,” he drawled and Dean was certain he recognized that voice and the mole near his lip.  This cocky son of a bitch was the asshole in the majority of the videos.  The man who had purposefully taunted them by hurting Cas just the night before. 

“You’re here for my angel, but you can’t have him.”

Dean was going to cut out his tongue.

“D-drop your guns!”

 _Shit!_  Naked man had produced a knife and pressed it to Castiel’s neck. 

“You touch him with that knife and I will end you.”

The man crouching beside Cas looked nervous, but the other smiled wickedly. 

“Lose the guns.  Or I’ll have Bill maim his pretty face.”

Together they slowly lowered their guns and set them on the floor, kicking them over at the man’s instruction.  _Bill_ had already removed the knife from Castiel’s throat and set it on the floor.  Friggin’ amateurs.  Dean just needed the other guy to strut his cocky self closer. 

“I’m really going to enjoy killing you,” Dean said truthfully as the guy retrieved Dean’s gun and pointed it at him.

“You must be Dean.”  Delight was evident in his voice.

“I’d ask for your name, but it’s pointless since you’re about be a stain on the floor,” Dean sneered.

Son of a bitch laughed and took a step forward.  “Mal.  And I like that.  My little toy angel used to be feisty too.  In the beginning...” 

Dean’s hands twisted into fists desperate to be used as weapons.  But the idiot, _Mal_ , was shifting closer, as if he and Sam weren’t a threat.  He must have gotten used to taunting weaker opponents who couldn’t fight back. 

“I think I’d like to make you watch in person.  Force you to see the little slut in action.  Unless you’d rather join in.  You and your…” He turned his attention to Sam and Dean sprang forward, catching his gun hand and forcing it towards the wall as he slammed his fist into Mal’s throat. 

It was embarrassingly easy for Dean to take him to his knees and he expertly drew his knife, instead of his spare gun, slicing Mal’s cheek open.      

A shot went off, but the cry of pain Dean heard wasn’t Sam, so he focused on the scum struggling under his vicious grip.

“How do you like being the one on your knees, hurt and afraid while I laugh about it?”

“I think your pathetic friend enjoyed it more,” Mal spat through the blood collecting in the corner of his mouth.  Dean slashed angrily at his ear.  See how tough guy liked that. 

“ _Dean!_ ” Sam yelled over Mal’s howl of pain. 

Sam had gotten Naked Bill’s wrists tied together.  The blubbering bastard was clutching a bloody hand to his chest.  Dean spotted a couple fingers on the floor. 

“We don’t have time for that.  We have to get Cas out of here.”

“Fine.”  Dean traded his knife for his gun and shot Mal twice.  Once in the gut and once in the groin.

Dean went to Cas, shoving the dead guy off of him and carefully unstrapping his ankles, one of which was very swollen—he had to take off the gloves to manage it. 

“Watch it!  You almost stepped on one of my fingers.  The doctor will need those.”

“Shut up,” Sam said, walking away from Bill and returning with a dirty looking sheet that he held out to Dean.

“Here, wrap him up in this.  We’ll get the cuffs off in the car.” 

Sam turned his gun on Bill, drilling him for information. 

“What did they give him?”

“I—I don’t know.  Some sort of sleeping pills, I think.  He’s had them before,” Bill said. 

Worried that Cas hadn’t reacted to anything happening including the multiple gunshots, Dean crouched by his head and furiously removed the spider gag that had been keeping his mouth open. 

“Cas?  Hey, Cas, can you hear me?”

Dean could feel his slow pulse and felt grim relief that at least they had interrupted assholes into somnophilia instead of necrophilia. 

“You’re going to rat on every single person involved in what was done here.  Give the police names or we’ll be back to find you and shoot off additional appendages,” Sam threatened.  “You got me?”

“Okay, yes, fine.  Just don’t shoot me again.”

There was dark bruising around Castiel’s neck that hadn’t been there 24 hours ago and Dean was done.  He didn’t even bother to turn around, because he could hear that whiny bastard, bellyaching over a couple of lost fingertips and knew exactly where to aim.  The bullet effectively silenced him.

“What the hell, Dean!?”

“He had it coming, Sam.  You heard him.  He said Cas had the pills before, that means he’s been here at least once already,” Dean said as he covered Cas with the sheet.  He was so beyond caring if Sam was mad at him or disappointed or whatever, because if there were others around he’d gladly kill them too. 

Cas had to be carried and the handcuffs linking his wrists together made it easy to loop his arms around Dean’s neck so he was essentially holding on when Dean lifted him.  Gathering him up under his knees and back, Dean cradled Cas close against his chest. 

“You need help?”

“No,” Dean said, glancing back at Sam and the body slumped just beyond him.  Cas was unnaturally light. 

“Do me a favor.  Make sure none of these pricks I shot are going to recover.”  

Dean purposefully squashed a stray fingertip on his way to the stairs.

It was a little slow going on the way up since he was trying not to jostle Cas or bump him into the walls.  Sam caught up easily as Dean made his way to the front door and held it open for both of them. 

“Get him into the car.  I’ll be right there,” Sam said, ducking back into the house.

With the bright sunlight illuminating his bruises, Cas looked worse and Dean was grateful he was primarily covered.

“Hang on, Cas, we’re getting you out of here.”

Dean was nearly to the sidewalk when a gun went off.  Dropping to his knees, he tried to shield Cas’s body with his own, uncertain where the shot had come from. 

“Sam!?”

Looking over his shoulder, he saw Sam in the driveway subduing an armed man he recognized from the videos. 

It was a struggle to get back to his feet after slamming his knees into the ground.  Dean staggered back into a standing position and realized he was bleeding.  The wetness was staining the front of his shirt and dripping down Castiel’s arm.

“Shit.”

Tightening his grip on Cas, Dean walked the last few paces to the car.  Castiel felt heavier as Dean leaned against it and tried to catch a hold of the door handle.

“Hang on, I’m here!  I got it.”

“Where the fuck did he come from?”

“Not sure.  I went back for the angel blade, spotted it in the living room, heard the shot on my way out,” Sam said as he opened the door and brought Castiel’s arms from around Dean’s neck.

“Which one of you is bleeding?”

“Me.  Dick clipped me I think.”

They arranged Cas in the backseat.  Dean climbed in with him, easing Castiel’s head onto his lap.  He still hadn’t reacted to his changing environment.

“Thanks,” Dean said as he accepted the recently restocked first aid kit from Sam.  “Get us out of here.”

 

 

Sam drove while Dean took off his layers to get at the spot between his shoulder and neck that was torn open.  Fortunately, it was only a graze and he managed to apply pressure before taping thick gauze over it to staunch the bleeding.  He swallowed a couple pain pills since the liquor was in the trunk. 

When he turned back to Cas again, Dean was certain that more blood was spotting the sheet than ten minutes ago—his arm was streaked with it.  Dean had incorrectly assumed it was all from him.  He quickly found the wound on the underside of Cas’s upper arm.  The shooter had managed to catch them both with one bullet right where Castiel’s arm had been pressed against him, but it had just torn away flesh and passed through without lodging anywhere.    

Cas groaned softly as Dean attempted to clean some of the blood away from the surrounding skin with an alcohol wipe.

“It’s okay, Cas.  Just fixing you up,” Dean said as he proceeded to treat his wounded arm the same way.  There wasn’t a whole lot else he could do in the car. 

Satisfied that neither of them were bleeding on each other any longer, Dean switched to picking the lock on the handcuffs Cas was still wearing.  It took him longer than usual with the car moving, but he got them off, frowning at the marks marring Castiel’s wrists and gently rubbing antibiotic ointment into his damaged skin.

It took forty minutes to get completely out of the city.  Sam stopped to get some bottles of water, snacks, and coffee since neither of them had slept the night before.  Before they got back on the road, he came around to the back door closest to Castiel’s feet and dressed him in sleep pants.  He left two clean t-shirts for both of them. 

Ripping a section of the sheet off to dampen it, Dean wiped blood from Castiel and himself.  With some skillful maneuvering he got them both into the dry shirts, quickly covering Castiel’s protruding ribs and mutilated flesh, before gently cleaning his face too.  The shirt Sam had bought for Castiel was still a little big and Dean sadly traced the ring of bruises around his neck.   

Dean stared and stared at Castiel. 

His hair was overgrown, the left side of his face was scraped, and he had a couple days’ worth of stubble.  Carding his fingers repeatedly through the dark locks, Dean wondered who had cut it so unevenly. 

Eventually, Cas stirred in response to Dean’s continued stroking, eyelids fluttering and blinking briefly open, so that Dean caught glimpses of dark blue. 

“Cas!  Hey, Cas, can you hear me?”  Dean clasped his other hand around one of Castiel’s, giving it a little squeeze to help make his presence known.  “It’s Dean.  You’re with me and Sam.”

“Is he up?”

“I don’t think so.  Seems pretty out of it still.”

Dean cupped Cas’s cheek, tilting his head so that he might notice the face looking down at him.

“Cas, c’mon and look at me, buddy.  What the hell did they give you?”  Dean grumbled, thumbing along his more pronounced cheekbone. 

Castiel peered up at Dean, lids heavy with sleep, eyes closing and opening unevenly as he tried to focus.  Indigo met ivy and Dean couldn’t look away.   

“There’re those blue eyes I missed.”

He realized how true it was as Cas slowly blinked at him, fighting to keep his eyes open. They were barely parted, a sliver of blue that Dean didn’t realize he’d been desperate to see again in person.  Despite the sun filling the car, Castiel’s pupils were dilated and unwavering as he stared up at Dean every spare moment between blinking.

“That’s good, Cas.”

Content to stare back, Dean lost track of time and the miles racing past. 

The struggle to keep his eyes open must have exhausted Castiel, because his blinking kept stretching on longer and longer every time they slipped closed.  Dean stayed focused on Castiel long after the blue vanished, watching his mouth and the off-center cut splitting his lower lip.  Visually tracing the sharp lines of his jaw and sighing at the deep shadows under his eyes, stark in contrast to his pale skin. 

There was something comforting in simply watching Castiel sleep and Dean thought of all the times he’d told him not to do the same thing.  It really wasn’t _that_ creepy.  And Dean had no desire to disturb Cas and wake him.  He needed sleep; Dean could wait to talk to him.   Maybe Cas had followed a similar logic when he watched.  Dean had never asked him.

Seeing Cas sleep was kind of a marvel in itself.  He’d done it so rarely as an angel and Dean was hardly used to thinking of him as wholly human.  He’d barely gotten to spend any time with Cas after he fell.  Never gotten to see him this vulnerable. Damnit, he should have been there.

Gently, Dean laid his arm across Castiel’s chest, since it was the most natural place to put it.  His fingers were resting at the edge of Castiel’s loose collar and Dean swiped his thumb back and forth on the skin just beyond it.  A slow, silent metronome to the quiet song playing on the radio.

Dean’s head tipped forward, nodding with the movement of the car.

 

 

Dean jumped at the sound of the car door shutting and groaned at the stiffness in his neck.  It was dark and they were stopped in a parking lot, but he could make out Cas shifting slightly in his lap.  Sam startled him by tapping on the window before easing the door open. 

“I couldn’t drive any longer.  Got us a room.”

Murmuring in agreement, Dean made to shake Cas awake, but Sam stopped him. 

“Let him sleep.  Cas needs it and I have to get a few hours in to be coherent before talking to him.  Can you help lift him?”

Even though Cas was unsettlingly light, it was difficult to get him out of the car easily, but between the two of them they managed.  Dean’s arm was sore as shit from getting shot at, so Sam carried Cas in while Dean grabbed their bags.

He was too tired to argue when Sam insisted on changing both their bandages before speeding through his bathroom routine and collapsing on the empty bed.  After making Cas an ice pack for his ankle, Dean wasn’t far behind him, turning off the light and climbing into bed next to Castiel, fully dressed. 

Being able to watch Castiel sleep beside him was all that Dean wanted.  To hear his breath and feel his warmth.  To know he was alive and safe.  He could only see his outline in the dark and Dean tentatively reached out to find Castiel’s hand.  Though he knew they still had a long way to go, they had gotten Cas out of danger and that was the most important thing. 

Exhaustion hit him like a wave, the darkness acting as a current pulling him helplessly further and further from the shores of consciousness until he was floating far out at sea drifting into sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not that happy with this chapter, but hopefully you kids will like it well enough. 
> 
> Poor Cas is finally out of danger, but this probably wasn't the heroic, romantic rescue you were hoping for. 
> 
> Please let me know what you thought (particularly the action/rescue scene) of this. I don't think I write action very well. Was it confusing? If you've got a plethora of thoughts to share, feel free to find me on tumblr and we can have a proper conversation. rosewhipped22
> 
> Moments like this make me think I should have a beta, but I don't know if I'd want to listen to anyone else besides myself. Anyway, thanks so much for sticking around and reading through all the pain. You're champions. It's not the end of the hits, but at least Cas isn't alone anymore.


	11. Chapter 11

Fire engulfed the room, surrounding Castiel on all sides.  He could feel the heat blistering on his neck, hot breath by his ear, tongue raking along his throat. 

No one was there when he spun around. 

He was all alone. 

The brilliant fire roared against a background of black nothingness, growing larger and louder and lighter and brighter until it blinded and deafened him.  All he could process were the flames licking at his scorched skin, fierce, hot hands of fire burning him on contact and dragging him in different directions, tearing him open so heat could force its way inside.

He couldn’t breathe the sweltering air in without it roasting his lungs, seeping and searing until he started coughing.

Castiel woke up coughing in the dark, but instead of hot he was cold.  Quickly stifling the noise in the pillow, he tried not to panic.  One of the hands from his dream hadn’t let go, it was heavy on his arm and Castiel kept still.

He had no idea where he was.  Being used to the floor, the bed confused him.

It wasn’t Mal’s room.  He had only been brought there a handful of times, but this felt different.  There was clearly someone next to him in bed, but Castiel couldn’t see who it was in the dark.  ~~~~

For some reason he wasn’t restrained, which was for the best since he had to urinate.  Carefully extracting his arm, Castiel paused to make sure the man next to him wasn’t disturbed, but he slept on.  What he thought was additional blankets moved with him and seemed to be clothing.  It was really odd.

Castiel attempted to ease himself out of bed, but his ankle throbbed and he halfway fell, suddenly sharply aware of a new pain in his arm.  He was coughing again and tried to smother the sound with his hand, ignoring the familiar ache in his chest.  Waking his unknown companion was dangerous.  He’d likely be mad.  Sprawled next to the bed, he tried to keep silent and still. 

A light flicked on.

Castiel closed his eyes against the brightness.  He could hear that relentless static again and turned his head so his better ear might pick something up.

“Cas?”

He cringed.  His name.  How could they know his real name?  It was the last vestige of his self that hadn’t been sullied.  He hadn’t heard it in months. 

Someone was crouching down next to him, gently touching his shoulder. 

“Cas?  Hey, what happened?  You okay?”

The voice was familiar.  The grip on his shoulder increased.

“Cas, it’s okay. Just look at me, man.”

Castiel knew how to follow orders.  He looked up and saw Dean.

Dean.

It was Dean.

It didn’t make sense.

He kind of remembered being with Bruce.

Now he was in, what looked like a motel, with Dean. 

He looked… upset. 

If he was paying…

It couldn’t be real. 

He studied the hand on his shoulder. 

It felt real. 

Dean released him. 

“ _Cas_.  What the hell?  Say something.”

“Take it easy, Dean.  He might be in shock.”

Sam was there too, kneeling behind Dean, with a similarly troubled expression on his face.  Neither of them were naked, but that didn’t mean anything. 

“He does look terrible.  You feel sick, Cas?”

His bathroom in the basement didn’t have a mirror, but Castiel had suspected for a while now what Dean had just confirmed.  Ducking his head slightly, he glanced at his arms and pulled them closer to his body. 

They wanted him to talk.

“Dee—.”  He tried and failed not to cough.

“Grab the water, Sam.”

Dean pressed a bottle into his hand.  It looked like water and Castiel took a few mouthfuls.  It wasn’t that cold and swallowing hurt, but it still felt wonderfully soothing on his sore throat. 

They were both staring at him expectantly, but Castiel didn’t know what else to do.

“C-can I,” Castiel faltered.  He had forgotten how painful talking was after being choked.  “Bathroom?”

“Oh, yeah of course, Cas.  Let us help you up,” Sam said, standing and joining Dean in squeezing on either side of him.

They got him off the floor quickly and Castiel felt a little dizzy, but Dean stayed on his right side, letting him lean into him as he hobbled towards the bathroom.  Castiel had to lean heavily on the counter and Dean hesitated.

“Should I stay?”

_No._

He couldn’t say that. 

Dean was waiting for an answer.

“I, uh, I’m fine.”

“Holler if you need help or anything.”

Moving slowly, Castiel was able to manage on his own, but he felt extra achy and decidedly unsteady.  He didn’t have his plug and wondered if it was in the motel room somewhere.  There was a smear of blood on his inner arm that he washed away as he cleaned his hands, trying to remember when he was last bleeding, but he was having trouble concentrating.  His mind was thick and slow like heavy syrup, oozing and sticking in places, but not forming any clear thoughts.  Rolling back a sleeve revealed a bandage wrapped high on his arm.  It was definitely new.  It hurt to move. 

He didn’t know if he was supposed to shower, so he didn’t.  There was no shampoo at any rate.  Splashing water on his face triggered chills that had him shaking. 

He avoided the mirror.

Sam was knocking on the door and loudly asking if he needed help.

Castiel didn’t know what he was supposed to be doing, so he opened the door and Sam was right there, hesitantly extending an arm for him to hold onto.  Dean was sitting on the bed opposite the one Cas had fallen out of, watching them move across the room. 

“Here, sit on the bed, Cas.  Have some more water.”

He couldn’t be sure where this was going. 

Sam had retreated a few steps, saying something to Dean that Cas missed while he was busy trying to catch his breath.  Retrieving a duffle bag, Sam started shuffling through the contents.  Cas hoped he was looking for lube, because he felt sore even sitting still.

“You hungry, Cas?  We can get you something to eat,” Dean offered.

Castiel knew Dean was watching him closely, but risked ignoring the question anyway.  It was the same way Mal always asked him, already knowing the answer since he only made the offer every few days.  He just waited until Cas was weak enough to admit it.  Hungry enough to take food from his hand, trading bites of dry crackers in exchange for actions that made it hard to keep them down.  Then he’d have to earn the water.  He hated being fed. 

Sam had gotten his hands on a rather large first aid kit and that didn’t bode well.  Both men were skilled with knives.  He had to know.

“Did—did you pay?”

They looked from him to each other, seemingly confused. 

“Pay?  Pay for what?  What do you—wait.  Do you…  Do you think we want to fuck you, Cas?”

“Dean, _shut up_.”

He hoped they did.  Otherwise they were just here to hurt him.  They’d be good at that.

“Unbelievable,” Dean said, standing and advancing towards Cas.  “Why the hell would you think that?”

“Christ, Dean, just explain, don’t attack him.”

“Shut up, I need to know.”

He’d made them both mad.  It was a mistake.  He knew better than to ask questions.  Avoiding verbal interaction was best, but now Dean wanted an answer. 

Responses flitted through his mind. 

He was drugged and in bed with them. 

He had new injuries he couldn’t remember. 

There was no other reason why they’d be here. 

He went with the most obvious fact.

“This is a, a motel,” he said hesitantly.

 _“And!?”_   Dean exploded. 

Bracing for the hit, Castiel closed his eyes.

 “Sam and I spend like all our…”

Fists never came and after a minute Castiel opened his eyes to find Dean staring at him.  He spoke a lot more quietly.  Castiel almost didn’t catch it.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Cas.  No one is.  Not anymore.” 

If only that were true.  There was pain in Dean’s eyes and Castiel didn’t like it.  He looked down at the plastic bottle in his hands and drank the rest of the water.  The silent scrutiny was starting to bother him.  Being center of attention was unwise, but he wasn’t doing anything to encourage them.  They seemed unusually interested in him anyway. 

Sam was thrusting the first aid kit at Dean who moved next to Castiel. 

“Um, is it okay if I sit, Cas?”

They hadn’t seemed interested in punishing Castiel for the past questions he’d ignored, so he tried it again and said nothing.  Neither man reprimanded him and after a minute Dean sat next to him on the bed.  It wasn’t so bad, but Castiel didn’t understand.  Usually when no one wanted to hurt him or fuck him, he was left alone.  The Winchesters were saying they wanted neither, but they weren’t leaving. 

Sam sat on the floor in front of him. 

“Listen, Cas.  I know you’re confused.  Let me explain.  Dean and I found out what was happening and we’ve been looking for you.  Earlier today we located the basement those men were keeping you in.  You were drugged when we got there.  I mean, really out of it, but we got you out, saved you.  We drove for a few hours and stopped at this motel to sleep.  We didn’t pay to hurt you.  We took you away from all that.”

Castiel couldn’t remember any of that.  He heard everything Sam said, but…

“But…”  Why else would they want him?  Why would anyone?  He wasn’t an angel anymore.  He was useless to them without his powers.  He even failed at being human.  And why had they paid to hurt him for the camera?  If they were really looking, why did it take them so long to find him? 

“Cas, you can say whatever you want,” Dean said, softly touching his arm.

“But, _why_?” 

Castiel was staring at his knees, listening to the steady hum in his ears filling up the short silence.

“No.  _No, Cas_.  You don’t mean that.”  Dean sounded certain, but his voice went shaky.  “Why would you even say that?  We’re your friends, man.  You were in trouble.  Needed our help.”  Dean’s hands were on his cheeks, cupping his face to look at him and wiping at tears Castiel hadn’t been aware of.   “ _Of course_ , we came.”

The words were echoing in the vast emptiness of Castiel’s chest, reverberating through harsh, rough terrain, breaking loose the bedrock, and revealing soil that could be cultivated.  Dean said they were _friends_.  He and Sam had come to _help_ him.  Castiel wanted so badly for it to be true. 

Dean moved a hand to feel his forehead.  “Christ, Cas, you’re burning up.  You got anything to bring down a fever, Sam?  I think he’s delirious.”

Searching Dean’s eyes, Castiel found vivid greens and golden suns, life and promise, and a reflection of the concern Castiel had heard in his words.  Concern for _him_.  Like he mattered.  Like he was still important and valuable and—

And Castiel was crying.  He couldn’t control it.  Tears came with great wracking sobs that hurt, but he didn’t care.  It was all too much.  Too much to process and take in and he covered his face.

Strong arms were surrounding him, but Castiel didn’t fight it.  He had stopped fighting a while ago.  It was easier to let others take what they wanted. 

Allowing himself to be maneuvered, Castiel found his face pressed into Dean’s neck.  He was crying on his shoulder, blown away by how familiar Dean smelled.  It was blood at first, but then the cypress and smoke of his deodorant, his citrus scented shampoo, the worn leather of the Impala.  Castiel drank it in in gulping inhalations.  He had never expected to encounter quite the same combination again.  Hadn’t thought he’d ever see _Dean_ again. 

Dean’s gentle hands were holding him, rubbing his back slowly as he murmured his name and kind words in his ear.  Castiel hadn’t heard his name in so long and he clung to Dean, afraid of never hearing it again, afraid to let go, afraid he’d wake up alone in that horrible, dark room. 

Crying hurt, it threw off his breathing and morphed into coughing that sent him spiraling into pain that left him dizzy.  Dean kept him steady, stroking his hair until it finally subsided.  Castiel wasn’t sure how long he’d been crying, but he’d gotten Dean’s shoulder all wet.   

“I, I’m sorry.”

“No, shhh, it’s okay, Cas.  Take it easy, I’ve got you.”

Dean withdrew slightly, producing toilet paper he must have gotten from Sam.  After Cas dried his face and blew his nose, Dean presented a new bottle of water and encouraged him to drink. 

“Cas.  I want you to take these pills.  It’s just medicine.  It’ll help with the pain, help your fever.  They’re not gonna knock you out, I promise,” Dean said, shaking pills into his hand and holding his palm open to Castiel. 

The order almost sounded like a choice and Cas stared at the little white pills.

“Here,” Dean took the bottle of water and swallowed what was in his hand.  “See, I took them too.”

He shook out a couple more and after a moment Castiel took them, drinking carefully to avoid triggering his cough. 

“It’s a few hours till morning.  I think you should rest again, sleep if you can.  We can talk more tomorrow.”  Moving from the bed, Dean gestured towards the pillows.  “Do you want a cool compress?  You feel so hot.”

“I’m cold.” 

“That’s the fever, Cas.”

Intimidated by the prospect of sleeping in the same room with two men larger and stronger than him, Castiel felt incrementally better when he saw Sam getting into the other bed. 

Dean was still talking as he helped him to move up the bed and get under the covers. 

“What?”

“I said, tomorrow we can either drive you to see Sam’s doctor friend or head home to the bunker.  What do you want to do?”

Oh. 

The bunker. 

Last time the brothers had rescued him and taken him back to the bunker, he’d just been killed.  He’d had time to shower and eat before Dean told him to leave.  This time he hadn’t died at all, so he probably wouldn’t be allowed to stay as long.  He wasn’t ready to be sent away again.    

“Doctor.”

Dean nodded, but remained standing next to Castiel. 

“Uh, should I sleep with Sam or did you want me to stay with you?”

“Sam.”

“Okay…   you gotta let go of my hand.”

Castiel didn’t realize that he’d been holding on to Dean.  Part of him was reluctant to let go, but he released him, bunching the sheet in his hand instead.  Turning gently onto his side, so he could keep the other bed in sight compromised his hearing, but Castiel wanted to keep an eye on the brothers. 

Dean hovered, tugging the blankets higher up, saying something Cas couldn’t make out, before he moved away.   Perhaps it was a dream.  Everything was so realistic, but unbelievable.  The bed was so soft, the covers warm, and it was so surreal to be seeing Dean.  Usually in dreams there were some inauthentic nuances.  Deans that looked like Dean, but upon closer inspection were blatantly fraudulent with freckles misaligned or hair a shade too light.  This Dean was perfect.  From his long lashes unveiling sprigs of mint flecked with amber, to the dip above his blush pink mouth, nothing was amiss.  Castiel just wished his lips were spread in a smile.  He couldn’t think of anything more brilliant and beautiful than Dean looking joyful.   

The beds were only about two feet apart and once Dean had settled in he was looking at Cas and saying something else.  He must have been speaking quietly.  Cas had to push himself up and expose his better ear to hear properly. 

“What?”

Dean’s face fell.   

“Just wake me up if you need anything, Cas.  Drink your water and get some rest.”

Dean reached for the lamp and if none of this was real, then Castiel _needed_ to see his easy grin before the darkness swallowed him forever.

“Dean.”

“Yeah?”

“You, your smile.  Please.  It’s, it’s beautiful.”

Dean stiffened, eyes darting over his shoulder before he was frowning and just staring back.  The confusion didn’t faze Castiel.  He would take what he could get, because this dream was flawless and he could stare at Dean’s features all night. 

Castiel’s continued fascination was rewarded when parted lips pulled back into a small smile, but it was far from dazzling, tinged instead with worry and failing to light up Dean’s face the way it should.  Already cold, Castiel basked in the minimal warmth of his sorrowful grin and tried to etch every detail of Dean into his mind. 

“Go to sleep, Cas.”

Once Dean switched off the light, Cas couldn’t really see him anymore and that really made him worry none of it was real.  He didn’t want to be left alone.  Shifting to his back again wasn’t as comfortable for his tender lower half, but the bed was much softer than what he was used to.  He could faintly make out both brothers breathing this way and listening to it calmed him.   

Though he had slept for hours, Castiel still felt exhausted and a bit confused.  Sam had said he’d been drugged.  That always left him feeling sluggish and slow.  It made it hard to focus, but he tried to concentrate so he could remember what else Sam had said.  There hadn’t been a lot of details, but he said they got him out, away from Mal and the others.  Dean said no one was going to hurt him.  It was a nice thought and Castiel turned it over in his mind as he drifted off. 

 

 

A nightmare woke him, but he couldn’t recall the details.  It wasn’t unusual, but Castiel blamed this one on the heavy blanket and clothes he was wearing.  They’d tangled around him until he thought he couldn’t move.  Feeling clammy and hot, he tossed the blankets aside, hazily recalling where he was. 

Soft sunlight was filtering through the edges of the drawn curtains and Castiel was relieved to see Dean was still there.  He could make out Sam’s sleeping form next to him.  Reaching for the bottle of water, Castiel’s hand brushed along Dean’s car keys.  After a moment’s hesitation, he quickly scooped them up and hid them under his pillow. 

He couldn’t risk the brothers leaving without him. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Cas is sleeping a lot, but he really needs it. Boy is exhausted, hurt, and sick. Plus the drugs. I don't know why I feel the need to justify this, but it's the truth!
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! All your support really means the world to me. And not just because I don't have much else going on in my life. 
> 
> Less than 2 weeks till Season 12!!


	12. Chapter 12

The movement of the bed woke Dean and he listened as Sam stretched and collected his shower supplies.  At the last minute, Dean had enough sense to scramble out of bed to use the toilet before Samantha could get in there and take forever washing his hair. 

Cas was still asleep, but Dean thought he looked flushed and figured he must still have a fever.  Not wanting to wake him since he was clearly sick, Dean dropped back onto the bed and sent a couple texts to Charlie and Kevin to let them know they would be delayed getting back since they were definitely detouring to Texas. 

Kevin responded, asking how Cas was doing and Dean had no clue how to answer.  When Cas had finally woken up last night, he’d barely said anything.  Dean would be surprised if he’d said more than a dozen words altogether.  While he wasn’t sure what to make of that, Castiel’s apparent worry that Dean and Sam had _bought_ him was disturbing to say the least.  Not to mention that he seemed confused why they were looking for him in the first place. 

As much as Dean wanted to blame those responses on confusion caused by Castiel’s fever, he was afraid there was more to it than that.  Worried that part of Castiel really thought they were capable of wanting to hurt him. 

Though Dean should have been expecting it, the crying had kind of caught him off guard.  Dean didn’t handle crying comfortably on a good day, but it was nothing short of horrible to see Cas so distraught.  For one panicked second Dean had stared as Castiel’s shoulders shook, but then he had pulled him into his arms automatically, wanting nothing more than to soothe him and siphon his pain away.    

The plan had been to be careful about touching him, but by the time Dean remembered that Cas was already leaning into him and gripping his shirt tightly.  He was damn near inconsolable—Dean wasn’t even sure Cas heard the nonsense comfort he was repeating.  So he’d strengthened his hold over sharp shoulder blades, feeling wretched, but wanting to confirm at the very least that Castiel wasn’t alone. 

Dean texted Kevin that Cas was ‘not great.’

When he looked up from his phone, he found blue eyes staring at him.  Dean sat up immediately.

“Cas.  Hey.  How you feeling?  Can I get you anything?”

Dean waited as Cas slowly sat up and shifted to match Dean’s position on the edge of the bed so they were facing each other.  He was tempted to help, but didn’t want to overreact to Castiel’s winces. 

“You look a little better.  Did you sleep okay?”

A section of damp hair was clinging to part of Castiel’s forehead and the rest of it was swept in a northwesterly direction.  Cas tilted his head along with it like the uneven distribution made him top heavy.

“You’re still here?”

“’Course, man.  You think we were going to ditch you with the bill?”

Dean tried a smile, but Cas was just staring at him like he might vanish at any moment. 

Standing to retrieve the water and open the painkillers, Dean offered them both to Castiel.  He swallowed them without complaint and then hesitantly touched Dean’s wrist with his fingertips as if testing the texture of an unknown surface.  Despite Dean holding still, the hand was quickly withdrawn and Dean wished he knew what Cas was thinking so he’d know what to say. 

Castiel was focused on his hands in his lap, examining two fingers with no nails.  They looked painful.

“How’d that happen?” Dean asked, gesturing to his hands as he sat beside Castiel who froze.

“Am I too close?  Or was it the question?”

“Cas?” 

He had no idea if he was even being heard. 

“Look at me, Cas.”

Turning his head just enough, Castiel met Dean’s gaze.

“So you can hear me.  Good.  That’s good.  And uh, you don’t have to answer me, but maybe think about it?  Just so I know what’s going on with you, you know?”

Sam emerged from the bathroom half dressed. 

“Oh good, you’re both up.”  He quickly found a shirt.  “How you feeling, Cas?  You still have the fever?”

Sam waited, running his fingers through his hair and glancing at Dean after a few moments without an answer.

“I’m sorry, were you guys… Am I interrupting something?”

“No, no, it’s fine.  I gave Cas the pain killers already.”

Sam crossed the room to open the fridge and then lowered himself to the floor in front of Castiel again.  It must have been easier to catch his eye that way, because Sam seemed to have his attention.

“When was the last time you ate, Cas?  Before or after your ankle got busted?”

Cas lifted his head, glancing at Dean. 

“You saw that?”

“Yeah, Dean and I were watching.  We wanted you to know it was us, remember the anti-possession tattoo?  That was about 36 hours ago.”

“You watched.”  It wasn’t a question.  “Saw the gun one?”

“We didn’t watch them all,” Dean interjected, though he nearly had.  “But yeah, we saw that one.”

“I think it was then.”

“When you _ate_?  Are you sure?  That was like…”  Dean tried to remember.  Watching out of order had confused things.  “…like three days ago.”

Cas shrugged. 

“It might have been the day before.”

“Okay, I’m glad I got this then.  Try and drink it.” 

Sam held out a bottle of some sort of nutritional shake and Castiel accepted it.  Though Dean had known Sam bought a pack, he still made a face about it, feeling glad he wasn’t the one who had to drink it.  Going days without food made it a little easier to understand why Cas was looking so underfed.  Dean was starving and he’d only really missed dinner.

“It should be easy on your stomach,” Sam continued.  “Help you get some strength back.  I’m going to go buy an ankle brace so you might be able to put some weight on it.   You two should get cleaned up while I’m gone so we can get on the road.”

Getting back to his feet, Sam turned in a circle.

“Okay, where are your keys?”

They weren’t on the bedside table and Dean frowned, standing up and double checking his pockets.  

“Did you move them?”

“No.”

“Put them in your duffle?”

Dean didn’t think so, but went to check anyway.  He was feeling around in the bottom of his bag when he heard the keys jangle behind him.  Cas was holding them up, but had his head turned away as he coughed.

“Thanks,” Sam said, taking them.

“They fell,” Cas explained, twisting the cap off his drink and trying it, while Dean wondered how he’d missed them on the floor.    

Once Sam had left, Dean turned back to Cas.

“Tastes awful, right?”

“It’s okay.”

Setting the half full bottle aside, Castiel stood up from the bed and Dean rushed to catch him under the arm in support.  He helped Cas shuffle into the bathroom, giving him a few minutes of privacy before he knocked and let himself back in. 

“I think taking a bath makes more sense than a shower, what with your ankle.  Can’t fall if you’re sitting down, right?”

While Castiel leaned on the counter, Dean turned on the water, adjusting it until it ran warm and letting the tub fill. 

Feeling borderline weird about seeing Castiel naked in person, Dean kept his back to him and spoke to the running water. 

“Think you can get in here on your own?”

Dean heard no response or sounds of undressing.  When he turned around, Castiel was eyeing the tub fearfully and Dean forgot his discomfort, moving at once to his side.

“Please.  I don’t want to get in there,” Castiel said, wide eyes stuck on the bath as he faintly shook his head.

“It’s okay, Cas.  You don’t have to, but nothing bad is gonna happen.  I’ll stay right here with you, if you want.  And this tub is a lot smaller than that other one.  You probably couldn’t dunk your head under even if you wanted to.”

“I _don’t_ want to.”

“I know, I know,” Dean said, laying a gentle hand on Castiel’s shoulder.  “…but you want to get cleaned up, right?”

After a long moment, Castiel nodded in agreement.  Holding onto Dean’s arm, he pulled the t-shirt up over his head, switching his grip to get it all the way off and wincing when the fabric stuck to his half-way healed cuts. 

The sight of Castiel’s damaged skin made Dean a touch queasy.  He’d seen it yesterday and felt protective of his unconscious form, but now, in the unflattering fluorescents Dean saw every mark as proof of his guilt.  Every pained movement was evidence of how he’d let his friend down.  It was his fault that this had happened. 

As Castiel peeled off the bandage on his arm, a smattering of small, circular red marks on his shoulder blade in various stages of healing caught Dean’s eye.  He couldn’t remember them from any video and abruptly turned Cas by the arm so he could see them better.     

“Are these… _cigarette burns?_ ”

Castiel slipped out of his grip, looking at Dean warily. 

“You’re angry.”

“Hell yeah, I’m angry!  Look what those assholes did to you,” Dean burst out, frustrated that he’d gotten Cas back, but couldn’t fix what had already happened.  A moment passed before he realized Castiel had shut his eyes and was leaning away from him. 

He really had to watch it.  The last thing he wanted was for Cas to be afraid of him. 

“Cas.  Hey.  You remember last night?”

A tremulous nod. 

“I meant what I said.  I’m not going to hurt you.  Even if I’m angry.  And neither is Sam or anyone else.  We’re friends, Cas.  I just want to help you.  With all the crap you’ve been through it’s important that you know that, okay?”

“O-okay.”

Dean sighed, slightly conflicted.  Not because he was lying.  Obviously, he wanted to help Cas, but part of him wanted to comfort him with more than words. 

When Dean had been twelve, the heat in a particularly crappy motel room John left them in crapped out and he and Sam had been forced to share a bed to keep warm.  To stave off the cold during the day, Dean had no choice but to buy a small space heater and they’d spent hours huddled in front of it wearing their coats.  Having Cas in his lap, in his bed, in his arms had been exactly like being in front of a space heater in a freezing room.  It was the only place Dean wanted to be. 

Moving to the other bed had been disappointing and not just because he had to sleep with the horizontal karate kid.  Now that he’d finally gotten Cas back, he just wanted to keep him close and there was nothing wrong with that.  It was just weird and Dean wasn’t sure what Cas would make of it. 

“All right, let’s get you in there before the water gets cold.”

Dean averted his eyes and braced himself as Cas undid his drawstring, letting his bottoms drop to the floor.  He was concerned more about keeping his reaction in check than anything else.  He knew Castiel’s backside was going to be bruised worse than the rest of him.

Getting Cas into the tub wasn’t as complicated as it could have been.  As long as Dean didn’t mumble, Castiel took direction well and Dean had experience with helping injured people maneuver.  The problem was once Cas got in there, he didn’t want to let go of the side of the tub, so he was one-handedly using a washcloth to slowly clean himself. 

The tub was definitely small and Castiel’s knees were bent out of the water.  There was a harsh yellowing bruise on his shin.  It was the same leg as his injured ankle.  Dean felt himself getting pissed at the angry cuts tracking their way across Castiel’s discolored chest and stomach.  So many bruises and scars mangling his body and they all had Dean’s name on them.  Cas was carefully washing around the nipple ring he still had and Dean just wished he’d take it out.

Excusing himself under the pretense of borrowing a bowl from the kitchen so Cas could easily wet his hair, Dean took a deep breath once he was out of the room and barely resisted slamming the flimsy cupboard door closed to vent his anger.  He couldn’t risk Castiel hearing it and getting spooked. 

When he returned a minute later, Dean hung out near the doorway in case Cas needed any assistance.  It quickly became clear he could use a hand.  He was still using his good arm to keep a grip on the edge of the tub which left his recently shot one to do all the work.  It was slow going and Castiel’s movements turned even more hesitant when he raised his hand to try and shampoo his head and Dean realized the effort was bothering his ribs too. 

“Here, let me do that,” Dean said, sitting on the skinny ledge and picking up his shampoo.  Squeezing a blob into his palm, Dean massaged it into Castiel’s wet hair, getting it nice and sudsy on top.  Cas had tensed initially and Dean could feel eyes watching him as he concentrated on swirling his fingers through longer hair at the back.  He worked his way up the sides and along Castiel’s hairline, trying to avoid dripping in his eyes. 

Castiel flinched away when Dean’s fingers roved over a hidden lump.

“Sorry!  I guess that hurt?”

“It’s just sore.”

He didn’t elaborate, but Dean wanted to know.

“Did you hit your head?”

Tightening his grip on the tub, Castiel sighed.

“Mal… hit me with his gun.”

Oh, yeah.  Dean had seen one of them pistol whip Cas the other day.  He’d already forgotten.   

Instead of looking at him, Castiel was staring abjectly down at himself and the water.

“I want to get out,” he said quietly.

“You’re finished with the washcloth?”  Dean wondered aloud, wrinkling his nose at the question, because what was he here—Cas’s armed and dangerous nanny?  The guy could decide when he was done in the tub.

“Dean.  _Please_.”

“Yeah, okay, Cas, but we gotta get all the soap rinsed off,” Dean said, opening the drain to get rid of the water, because Cas was sounding a little panicked. 

Frowning at the shower head which didn’t detach, Dean realized this was all Sam’s fault.  He was the one suggesting showers before skipping off to run an errand. 

Castiel was trying to position himself to begin standing up, but Dean saw how shaky he was and grabbed under his arms to help lift him into a standing position.   

“All right, all right, Cas.  Here, hold onto my shoulder and the wall,” Dean directed as he quickly undid his jeans.  His shirt had already gotten pretty wet holding onto Cas and Dean figured if he stepped in the tub with him he’d avoid getting water everywhere and could make sure Cas didn’t slip.  Plus, he needed a shower anyway and this whole process was taking too long. 

As his jeans hit the floor, Castiel released his shoulder.  Dean figured it was so he could pull off the wet garment clinging to his chest, but as soon as the shirt cleared his head he spotted Cas.  He had turned himself towards the shower wall, forehead and palms pressed to the fiberglass and shit, Dean could see him damn near hyperventilating. 

“No, no, no.  No, Cas.  This is not… not that.  This is still me helping you.  See?  Boxers on.”

This was a terrible, terrible plan.  Dean didn’t know to fix it.  Suds were sliding down the back of Castiel’s neck.  He was afraid and Dean was more than half naked.  Rather than backtrack, Dean decided to go with ripping the Band-Aid off.  Determined to speed through until they got on the other side of awkwardness, he turned on the shower head, leaving the water slightly hotter than necessary in his haste. 

“Okay, Cas.  I’m in here now too, but I’m just gonna make sure you don’t fall down,” Dean said, tapping Castiel on the shoulder in lieu of touching him any other way.  He had to do it three times and loudly say Castiel’s name before he blinked his eyes open and glanced at Dean who held up his hands in a non-threatening gesture before Cas averted his eyes to the floor.

“Just a shower, Cas.  I’m not going to do anything.”  Dean stepped back out of the spray of water and held out his arm.  “Take my arm to lean on.  Get rinsed off and I’ll get you out of here.” 

Castiel was still looking miserable and hesitant, so Dean repeated everything louder in case he couldn’t hear over the constant stream slapping at their feet.  And thank god Cas trusted him enough to listen, because Dean was out of ideas.  Tentatively, Cas grabbed at his bicep and Dean had to step in slightly to catch him under the arm.  Suddenly, the terrible plan didn’t seem as crazy, because Cas was trembling and Dean didn’t know if it was a result of fear or fever, pain or hunger, but Castiel definitely needed the support.

Of course, that didn’t mean it wasn’t unusually awkward at first to be nearly naked and firmly holding a completely naked Castiel who was mere inches away.  Cas who had his eyes closed and his head titled back under the hot water. 

As much as the moment had the potential to be sexual, it really wasn’t.  If Dean had to describe it, he might have called it intimate though and that wasn’t a word he threw around a whole helluva lot.  Cas was hurt and vulnerable, steadfastly holding onto Dean for support as he bared his neck to him and rinsed his hair.  It was asking so much of Castiel after his ordeal, but here he was, trusting Dean implicitly.  Helping Cas when he needed it was simple and innocent.

And though Dean had been planning to blame this disaster of a shower on Sam and put him on point for the next one, the truth was he didn’t like the idea of anyone else assisting Castiel like this.  Cas needed someone he could trust for this kind of thing.  Not that Sam couldn’t be trusted, but Dean wanted it to be him.  He wanted Cas to choose him. 

He made a mental note not to bungle it so badly in the future. 

“I think you got it all,” Dean said as Castiel passed a hand through his hair again.

Castiel didn’t appear to hear him under the water and Dean wanted to touch his face to get his attention, but went with tapping his shoulder again.   Opening his eyes, Castiel seemed to realize he’d missed something and he shifted slightly closer to Dean, grip tight on his arm as he turned an ear towards him.  So, naturally, Dean figured he should lean in so Cas would definitely hear him.  They were nearly cheek to cheek when he spoke.

“You got it all.  If you want to hold onto the wall and give me two minutes to shower, then I can get you out of here.”

It hadn’t been his original plan, but he could just quickly wash the necessities.  He wasn’t that dirty. 

Castiel nodded and Dean made sure he was steady before he rushed through shampooing and soaping up his face and arm pits.  Finishing up, he killed the water and ineffectively wrung out the legs of his boxers.   It was a trifle annoying that they were more or less plastered to his skin, leaving little to the imagination, but Dean didn’t really care and doubted Cas would notice. 

Ducking his head under Castiel’s arm, Dean wrapped an arm around him and they got out of the tub together.  Instead of stopping for towels, Dean took Cas straight to one of the beds to sit down, tracking water everywhere and thinking how he had to leave the maid a decent tip.  Dean quickly dried himself in the bathroom, swapping his wet boxers out for a towel to wrap around his waist.  He brought a dry one to Cas, who was covered in goosebumps and realized the new clothes Sam had purchased were still in the trunk. 

Dean got dressed and chose stuff from his own duffle for Cas.  He dabbed ointment and affixed bandages on Castiel’s freshest looking cuts, before helping him into a washed out black t-shirt and a clean pair of boxers. 

“I’m sorry about the shower, Cas.  My clothes.  I, uh, I should have thought that through, kept them on or something.  I didn’t mean to upset you,” Dean said as he dressed Castiel’s gunshot wound.

“I, I know.  It was…  kind of you to help me.”

“Yeah, helping you with all the decorum of a world-class jackass.”

Dean draped the bed blankets around Castiel’s shoulders, piling the ends over his bare legs to keep him warm. 

“I needed to shower.  It was helpful.”

“Uh huh.  Well, here, try and finish your nutrition elixir.  Dr. Piccolo’s got a whole pack with your name on it.”

“Thank you.”

Pleased that Cas managed several sentences in a row, Dean left him to fix his own bandage and finish up in the bathroom.  While Cas sipped his drink, Dean shuffled with towels under his feet to try and sop up water off the floor.  For the amount he dripped everywhere, he might as well have helped Cas from outside the shower. 

He heard the Impala several minutes before Sam was kicking at and calling through the door to be let in. 

“Rude,” Dean said, opening it.

“Yeah, well, forgive me.  My hands are full with your coffee and breakfast.”

That was only half true.  In addition to coffee, a tea for Cas, and two bags that Dean was definitely getting a bacon vibe from, Sam also had a few plastic bags with Castiel’s recovered toiletries, the smaller clothes, and what looked like more medical supplies.  He had an arm slung through a pair of crutches that almost fell into the drinks when Sam tried to set everything down.

“You bring the entire sickbay, Bones?”

“Just the necessities.”

Sam helped Cas into clean sleep pants and then the ankle brace he purchased, while Dean devoured one egg sandwich and started on another.  Figuring Cas might want something good to eat, Dean offered some to him, but he shook his head at the torn half in Dean’s extended hand.  Sam thought it was a bad idea too, claiming it’d be too heavy and greasy for Cas.  Instead, he bought him some sort of boring crackers and a side of toast to nibble on, but Cas shook his head at that too.

Sam tried to demonstrate how to use the crutches, but they were a couple inches too short for him.  Dean took over and it quickly became clear Cas could only use one to lean on, because using both bothered his ribs.  Deciding that Cas was too shaky at this point to rely on a metal pole to keep him standing, Dean helped him to the car the same way he helped him out of the tub.

Before Dean could climb in the front, Sam stopped him. 

“How did you get Cas showered?”

“What do you mean?”  Dean felt a little hot in the face.

“I mean he can barely stand.  Did you make him take a bath?”

“You were the one who said to get him cleaned up, Sam.  He needed help.  I helped him.  Big deal.”

Dean shrugged at Sam’s incredulous expression.  So he helped Cas, who cares?  He’d helped Sam into the shower once or twice after particularly rough hunts.  Hell, he used to draw baths for the kid a lifetime ago. 

“I meant at the sink, Dean.  Or with a washcloth.  I’m just a little shocked he let you.”

“Yeah, well, he wasn’t thrilled about it,” Dean said, yanking open his door before Sam could pry for more details.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you awesome kids awarded me with 300+ kudos and I thought that made me contractually obligated to post another chapter, so I hope you liked it. This wasn't exactly a quick update, but I hope it wasn't too long a wait either. I promise if I ever learn to write more quickly, I will post more quickly. Maybe I should disconnect from the internet and lock myself in a quiet room to avoid distraction. Or I could go to the desert like the prophets are supposed to. It couldn't hurt, right?
> 
> I seem to have a few brand new readers as of last chapter, so if anyone was recommending my story, thanks so very much! I really appreciate it! And a big hello to you new people!!
> 
> If you're like me and always looking for another fic featuring hurt!Cas, **Hanzel_Watson** started writing a story inspired by this one. Check it out! The link should be below, but I think it moves to the end of the most recent chapter as I update.


	13. Chapter 13

 

They drove southeast with the radio playing low on some soft rock station that Dean largely despised.  It was supposed to be for Castiel’s benefit, calming or mellow or some such thing, but Dean wasn’t convinced Cas could even hear it in the backseat.  He was markedly quiet and seemingly mesmerized staring out the window with his head on the glass, watching the scenery whiz past at 70mph. 

Castiel gave every appearance of still being tired, barely moving as he all but melted into the door.  He stayed huddled in the corner, quiet unless he was interrupted by bouts of coughing.  It sounded pretty nasty to Dean and he saw the way Castiel’s face scrunched up in pain.  Though he disliked the idea of Cas taking painkillers, Dean could admit that he probably needed something stronger than what they had to offer. 

Sam kept encouraging him to drink more water and eventually Castiel was sipping it without prompting. 

As they traded the barren vastness of Arizona for the unremarkable landscapes of New Mexico, Dean stopped for fuel, feeling ridiculous at the pang of jealousy he got as he watched Sam helping Cas towards the restroom.  They had a full day of driving on the schedule.  He could assist Cas at the next grimy gas station. 

Sam tried to make an attempt to pass bananas off as lunch so Dean was forced to stop for tacos.  He and Sam both had some, but Castiel stuck with the fruit, breaking off pieces, chewing slowly, and not finishing all of it.

Several uneventful hours down the road, Dean glanced in the rearview mirror to see Castiel visibly shaking despite the red hoodie he was swimming in. 

“Shit, Cas, your fever’s back.”

Dean dialed back the air conditioning while Sam gave Castiel another round of medication and his jacket, which he used as a makeshift blanket.  They’d thrown out the dirty sheet he’d been wrapped in back at the motel. 

Five minutes later, Dean could hear Castiel’s teeth chattering and he pulled the car over, ordering Sam to take over driving as he removed his jacket and opened the door closest to Cas.  Looking startled, Castiel slid over to make room. 

“C’mere Cas, you’re freezing.  I’ll help you get warmed up,” Dean said as he sat, spreading his arms in invitation and hoping Cas would accept.

For several long seconds, Dean feared a rejection.  Castiel wasn’t looking at him.  Sam definitely was. 

“Eyes on the road, Sam.” 

If he hurt Baby because he was busy gawking at his brother in the rearview, then he could make use of his Daddy Long Legs and walk back to the bunker.

“C’mon, Cas.  Let me help you.  I’ll back off if you don’t like it,” Dean promised.

At that, Cas met his eyes and seemed to reconsider.  Dean let him come on his own even though all he wanted was to pull Cas in swift and strong and as sure as the tide. 

Slowly, Castiel moved into Dean’s embrace, holding himself stiffly and leaving an awkward couple inches between them.  He kept his distance for a few minutes before he cautiously leaned into Dean. 

“That’s good, Cas.  It’s okay.  We’ll get you warmed up,” Dean said, convinced he’d made a good decision.  Being able to provide some small comfort to Castiel after a devastating week of watching him suffer felt effortlessly wonderful.

Dean draped his jacket around Cas and kept his arms loose as he held him, ignoring his instinct to gather Cas close and hold him tight.  Despite his severe chills, Castiel’s skin was hot to the touch, but he nestled in, letting his head droop onto Dean’s chest.  Up close Dean could hear his short, shallow breaths and he felt a mad desire to brush the hair away from Castiel’s forehead and maybe stroke it a bit.  But Sam would definitely see that and Cas might not like it.  So Dean settled for leaving his arms wrapped around his friend.  He definitely did not surreptitiously smell Castiel’s hair.  And he certainly was not strangely pleased that it smelled like his own shampoo. 

Tilting his head back onto the seat, Dean closed his eyes, focusing on the warm weight tucked into his side.

It was so easy.  Such a simple thing.  Mild embarrassment be damned.  If Castiel wanted more of this, Dean would give it to him.  It was the least he could do and at the moment he felt like he should be giving Cas everything. 

Monsters, manipulative angels, and shitty circumstances had conspired against them for far too long and Dean was sick of it.  He’d wanted Castiel to stay with them all those months ago.  Wanted an opportunity to mend any remaining rifts between them after their stint in Purgatory and the brainwashing business.   

Now that he finally had Castiel back, he wasn’t about to let him go. 

 

 

Eventually Cas slept, curled into Dean who dozed on and off with him until they made it to Kermit.  It was late enough that Dean suspected the veterinary office was probably closed, but they stopped at a diner while Sam texted Amelia to set up a meeting time. 

They looked kind of conspicuous helping Castiel inside, so Dean was glad they had missed the dinner rush.  Though his fever had come down, Cas was still a little clammy and generally looked unwell.  He’d worn Dean’s jacket over his zipped-up hoodie and was hunched in the booth with his arms pulled tight to his chest, avoiding eye contact. 

“You good, Cas?”

A quick nod. 

Dean exchanged a glance with Sam.  He hadn’t wanted to make Cas uncomfortable by going into the diner.  Really, he just wanted him to eat something more substantial than bottled nutrition and half a banana. 

Their waitress was sympathetic towards Cas right away.

“Oh hun, you look just terrible.  What can I get ya?  A cup of tea, maybe?”

“Yeah, he’s having a rough day, tea would be great,” Sam said, while Cas seemed to shrink smaller at the attention.  “Maybe with some honey?” 

Sam ordered a bowl of chicken noodle soup for Castiel and minestrone for himself while Dean scanned the menu and decided to go with their Extra Onions Bacon Burger. 

Between his injured throat, which the bruising had darkened on, and his hearing difficulties, Castiel had been quiet all day, only speaking occasionally with a few words strung together.  Dean kind of figured it must hurt him to talk, so he wasn’t pushing Cas into conversation.  He and Sam were debating the merits of spending the night in Kermit versus taking turns driving through to the morning after they were finished with Amelia, Dr. Richardson.  Dean was trying not to think of it as taking Castiel to a vet, because he deserved better than that. 

When they had walked in, Sam had snagged one of the free local papers, but hadn’t bothered to look at it yet.  Reaching out, Castiel slid it towards himself and gazed down at the front page.  The longer he stared at it the more Dean lost track of what Sam was saying.  Reading the headline upside down, Dean couldn’t understand why ‘Funding Approved for New Playground’ would be so interesting, but Cas didn’t stop looking until the waitress was back with their drinks. 

Castiel seemed to like the hot beverage.  After Sam added honey to it, he wrapped his hands around the mug and sipped, treating the hot liquid like a looking glass.

Dean picked up the newspaper.  Maybe, technically, Castiel did appreciate playgrounds.  They’d had one of their first real conversations at one.  And, at the moment, Dean was kind of failing at coming up with topics of discussion that didn’t involve asking Cas how he felt.

“Cas?  They putting in swings?”  Dean asked a bit loudly.  He was still getting used to what volume Cas could hear him at.  It was hard to be sure since sometimes Castiel seemed to not answer simply because he wasn’t paying attention.     

Sam and Cas both looked at him in confusion. Dean waved the paper.

“The playground article.  You read it, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t,” Castiel said, squinting at the paper like he was unaware it contained articles.

“Well, what was so interesting then?”

“The date.”

Oh. 

Right. 

Cas was checking to see how long he’d been with the men.  How much time had passed since Dean kicked him out.  How long he was left to rot in their basement. 

It wasn’t even the right date.  Damn weekly papers.

“Today’s the tenth, not the seventh,” Dean said, shoving the paper in Sam’s direction, unable to look at Cas as three more days were tacked on to his abuse.

The arrival of their waitress provided a good distraction.  Dean saw Castiel eyeing the food hungrily as she set the dishes down and he wondered how long it had been since he’d had a hot meal.  Castiel made no move to start eating though, instead he looked worried.  Briefly covering his eyes and then his mouth, Castiel stared down at his soup and mumbled into his knuckles.

“Wh-what do I have to, to do?”

Dean was in the middle of chewing and choked a bit as he forced it all down in one overambitious swallow.  Cas couldn’t mean that the way it sounded, right?  Maybe he didn’t know if a spoon or fork would be better suited to the part liquid, part solid soup. 

Sam thumped him once on the back and Dean hoped maybe he had just misheard Castiel, but then Sam was answering.

“To eat the soup?  Nothing, Cas.  You don’t have to do anything.  It’s your dinner.  No expectations.  We just want you to eat and feel better.  We don’t want anything in return.  Right, Dean?”

“Right,” Dean replied weakly, appetite completely gone.

Continuing with his assurances, Sam managed to convince Castiel who tentatively tried the soup.  Even almost completely covered in his layers, Cas still looked small and Dean took in his gaunt appearance with fresh eyes.  He knew Castiel hadn’t been getting enough to eat, of course, but not once did he think that they were purposefully manipulating him through hunger. 

Dean was disinterestedly eating his sweet potato fries and fantasizing about driving back to Vegas to hunt down every last asshole who had harmed Cas.  There had been more than the three he shot and the one Sam took care of. 

Two men at the counter had started arguing and Dean felt vaguely annoyed they interrupted his imaginary retribution.  When one loudly told the other, “shut the hell up,” Cas dropped his spoon with a clatter, eyes flicking in their direction before returning to his soup.  

“Cas?  You okay?”

Castiel slightly shook his head, hands disappearing to his lap. 

 “Dean.  I…”

 “What do you need, buddy?” 

“S-sit with me?”

Dean was across the booth in a moment, sliding in next to Cas, a solid barrier between him and the rest of the diner.  The rigid stiffness that had frozen Castiel lessened.  To resist comforting him in ways he might not want, Dean kept his hands on the table, waiting and watching as Castiel visibly calmed. 

The arguing men had grown more subdued.  Castiel no longer seemed to hear them and after a few minutes and words of encouragement, he managed a couple more spoonfuls of soup.  Once Dean had pulled his plate over and they’d all resumed eating, Castiel tried to apologize, for what Dean didn’t know since he’d done nothing wrong.  He and Sam both waved the contrite words away. 

Castiel only managed to finish about half his soup before they left to meet Amelia at her office.

 

 

When they arrived, Amelia was already there and she opened the door to Sam first, while Dean and Cas slowly caught up. 

“…do appreciate your help on this.  He hates hospitals, so we didn’t have a lot of options.  That’s De-Dan and this is Cas, the one I told you about.  Guys, this is Amelia.”

Dean nodded his head in greeting.

“Nice place, Doc.  Where do you want us?”

“Uh, that way,” Amelia said, pointing down the hall and gaping at Cas.  “First door on the right.”  She turned to Sam, lowering her voice.  “ _That’s_ your friend in an abusive relationship?  Sam, he clearly needs medical attention.”

“I agree. That’s why we brought him here, I told you he has no insurance.  It took a lot of convincing just to get him here and now he needs your help.”

 _Good luck with that argument_ , Dean thought as he turned where Amelia had indicated and could no longer overhear their conversation.  The room basically looked like a doctor’s office.  Dean helped Castiel over to the examination table, wondering if he’d notice the cat poster on the wall.

“How you feeling?”

“Tired.”

“Yeah, well.”  Dean brushed hair back from Castiel’s forehead.  “I guess you would.  I think your fever’s back.  The doctor will ask, though.  Be honest so she can help you.”

The door swung open behind him and Dean turned to an irritated Amelia. 

“You. Dan. Out.  I want to talk to Cas alone.”

“What? Why?”

“Because, quite frankly, I don’t know you.  And you want me to help your friend who is clearly afraid and in pain.  I’ll call the cops right now if you won’t let me talk to him alone.  I need to know that he’s with you voluntarily and I cannot do that if you’re present to intimidate him.  Now leave.”

“Look, Cas is my friend.  I wouldn’t—”

“Then be a friend and step outside,” Amelia said, pointing sternly at the door to dismiss him.

“Fine,” Dean grumbled.  “He’s got a hearing thing.  Speak up.”  Exiting the room, he returned to Sam in the lobby.

“She kicked me out.”

“Yeah.  He’s in worse shape than she expected.  Wants to make sure he really doesn’t want a hospital.”

“And that we weren’t the ones hurting him,” Dean scoffed, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter.

“She’s concerned for him.  It’s a good thing,” Sam said, scanning a bulletin board of thank you cards and pet photos.

“Actually, he’s worse than I expected too…  that thing at the diner.”

“Which thing?”

“The food thing.  Thinking we wanted something from him just for a lousy bowl of _soup_.  I mean… why doesn’t he trust us?”

“Dean, he does trust us.  You think he would’ve been falling asleep on you earlier if he didn’t?  It’s just that for over five months he… well, you saw what they did.  I mean, that torture makes up the majority of his human existence.  To go from an angel to, to that, to being constantly afraid and in pain… It messed with his head.  He’s going to need some time.”

“And I’m gonna need a drink,” Dean said, thinking longingly of his flask in the car, but knowing he didn’t deserve any of the relief it would bring.    

“Well, Cas is doing better than I expected.  I’m worried he’s still in shock or something.  He’s so quiet.  I thought he’d have questions.  Has he initiated any of the conversations you’ve had?”

“No, just responds when I ask him stuff and even then, only sometimes.   I guess you said it, Sam.  Time will tell.”

Approaching footsteps had Dean turning back around to face Amelia. 

“So I’ve only just barely started to examine your friend and I already know I’ve seen abused dogs in better shape than he is,” Amelia said, slipping her hands into her lab coat pockets and looking at them accusingly.   “If you really refuse to take him to a hospital, which I strongly recommend since it would be in his best interests, then you’re also going to have to take him to a clinic to be tested.  And I think it’s safe to assume that some sort of therapy would be appropriate since he’s clearly traumatized.”

“Yes.  We can do that,” Sam agreed.  “We want to help him.  He just wants to go home.  He wouldn’t do well in a hospital.”

“Right.” Amelia nodded.  “Because you two are clearly capable of giving him what he needs.  He wouldn’t be better off in the hands of professionals who deal with trauma victims day in and day out.”

There was no way this chick, medical degree or not, was going to convince Dean to leave Cas in some hospital with a bunch of strangers.  He’d done that once already and had zero interest in doing it again.

“Look, he’s hurt and sick.  So are you going to help him or not?”

Amelia sighed, chewing on her lip before relenting.

“This is a one time only situation.  I could lose my license for treating a human.”

“Thank you,” they said in unison. 

Sam kept going, “I’ll owe you one for this, Amelia.”

“Actually, Sam, I think it would be better if we just call it with this.  Neither of us owe each other.  Just don’t bring me anymore injured friends.  Human or canine.”

“Right, okay,” Sam said, rubbing a finger along his temple.

Dean shuffled his feet, deciding between inventing an excuse to go to the car or going to check on Cas, but Amelia saved him the trouble.

“I need you to come back with me, _Dean_.  Cas got scared and asked for you.”

“What!?  Why didn’t you say something sooner?”  Dean demanded, not waiting for a response as he rushed back to the exam room.

Castiel was still sitting where Dean had last seen him on the table, but his fingers were twisted in his hair, face hidden by his arms. 

“Cas!”

In his urgency to get Castiel’s attention, Dean almost grabbed his wrists, but thought better of it and diverted to his shoulder instead.  Castiel still startled, jerking away from Dean, alarmed and avoiding his hands, blue eyes wild until they found green, steady and strong.

“D-Dean?”

The disbelief was back in full force and Castiel tentatively reached out to Dean, seemingly amazed when his hand met solid flesh instead of passing through Dean like he was some shimmering mirage.  

“It’s me, Cas.  You’re okay,” Dean said, covering his outstretched hand with his own and pressing it more firmly against his chest.   

“You, you left.”

“Yeah, but I did not leave you, Cas.  I was right outside.”

“Dogs.  I, I heard them.  Trav was looking for—wha, why am I here?”  The short, quick breaths Castiel was sucking in caught up to him and the panicked look he gave Dean was punctuated with a bout of coughing.

Listening, Dean could hear dogs whining in the other room.  They must have barked if Castiel heard them too, but Dean still didn’t understand what he was talking about. 

“Just some sick dogs, Cas, they can’t hurt you.  You’re here for the doctor, remember?”

“His cough sounds awful,” Amelia said, stopping next to Dean and offering a paper cup of water.  When Castiel didn’t accept it, Dean did, taking a small swallow before passing it to Cas who drank at his prompting.  Well, that was something, anyway. 

Looking between the two of them, Amelia said she’d step out again so Dean could help Cas out of his clothes and she could properly look him over.

“Don’t you have like a gown or something he can wear?” Dean asked, knowing Cas wouldn’t want to be so exposed.

“Ah, you’re thinking of hospitals.  The gowns I dress shy cats in wouldn’t fit him,” Amelia shot back on her way out.

It took some coaxing to get Castiel out of his layers, but Dean found a decent compromise.  He let Cas keep his boxers and had him put his hoodie back on, before calling Amelia back in.

The examination took quite a while.  Castiel was clearly uncomfortable, reluctant to answer questions about his injuries regardless of who was asking.  Despite being obviously disturbed by his condition, Amelia was very thorough in looking him over and taking x-rays of his chest and ankle.  She spoke in honeyed tones that Dean was certain she used to calm skittish animals.  Despite her lack of experience with human patients, Amelia tried to be sensitive towards Castiel, touching him respectfully and kind of narrating what she was doing, but he still got upset and Amelia left it to Dean to calm him. 

That was how Dean wound up holding Castiel’s hand on and off.

The first time Dean reached for Castiel, he pulled away, looking frantically between the two of them.  Dean told Amelia to back off for a minute, so Cas might not feel so overwhelmed by being outnumbered and touched while only in his boxers.  It sort of helped.  Castiel let Dean take his hand, but he didn’t say a word and avoided their eyes, often closing them.  When Castiel tightened his grip at touches or questions that made him visibly anxious, Dean squeezed back, wishing there was more he could do to comfort his friend.

Utilizing the bags of medical supplies that Sam purchased and some tools of her own, she cleaned and bandaged the worst of Castiel’s cuts and scrapes.  There were older wounds that Amelia would have stitched if they hadn’t already started healing.  With so much bruising, she had to do a lot of touching to assess if the damage was more than skin deep. 

Dean made the mistake of explaining how Castiel’s ankle was hurt and when he suggested the initial injury to his ribs was several weeks old, Amelia grew irritated, certain that she wasn’t getting the whole story on what had happened. 

When he wasn’t zipped into his hoodie Castiel was very stressed.  So Dean was unsurprised that Amelia’s hesitant suggestion that he remove his shorts resulted in Castiel releasing his hand and curling in on himself, looking betrayed by the very idea.  Dean caved at once, not wanting to force Castiel to do anything he didn’t want to. 

“That’s probably not necessary,” Dean said, hoping Castiel would take his hand again if he heard him standing up for him. 

Amelia looked annoyed and lowered her voice, “I know he won’t like it, but do you really think that’s smart?  Don’t you want Cas properly evaluated?  Oh wait, no, of course you don’t.  If you did, you would have taken him to a hospital and not a vet in the first place.”

What Sam saw in this woman, Dean would never know.  He tried to keep his voice even.

“Cas.”  Dean waited, but Castiel wasn’t reacting and Dean turned fully towards him.  “Cas, look at me.”

Dean waited until Cas slid his eyes to meet Dean’s before continuing.

“The doctor wants to make sure you’re okay.  How’s the pain below your waist?”

“It’s fine.  I’m… not hurt.”

“Cas, that’s bullshit and you know it.  Be honest.”  Dean had seen some of the dark bruising himself just this morning.

“I’m… sore, but it’s not that bad.  Please.”  Castiel had his arms wrapped around his middle, hands covering sections of the waistband of his boxers like they were about to pry him out of them.  “Let me keep them.  It’ll heal on its own.”

“Sure, Cas.”

Amelia tutted disapprovingly.

“I can see something spotting his boxers from here, probably blood,” she said, pointing at an area high and inside on his thigh and sure enough, Dean saw it too before Castiel pressed his knees together.  Shit, he should have caught that after the shower fiasco. 

“Okay, Cas, she’s right.  You gotta let us look at that,” Dean sighed, rubbing at his jaw, because he had _just_ told Cas he could keep his boxers.  “Just, uh, just roll this up so the doctor can see.”

Turning his head away from both of them, Castiel reached for the legs of his shorts, scrunching the fabric in his fists, but not pulling them back any higher.

“C’mon, Cas, if you don’t do it, I’ll have to.”

“Maybe ask him to lie down.  Here.” Amelia crossed the room, opening a cabinet and returning with a folded blanket.  “Cas, sweetie, why don’t you lie back?  Dean will hold your hand while I take a look at your leg.  Scoot back, get your feet up here and rest your head on the blanket.”

Cas looked over at the blanket, but didn’t move until Dean pressed a hand to his shoulder, yielding to the pressure as Dean directed his movements until he was arranged flat on his back.

“Just take it easy, Cas.  She’s not gonna hurt you,” Dean said since Cas was trembling as Amelia pushed one side of his boxers up, revealing more injured skin and a nasty looking cut.  It wasn’t so much bleeding as it was seeping pus and Dean knew it was infected before Amelia said the words. 

With his head tilted up and away from them, Cas said nothing, doing his best to ignore them both and only twitching occasionally as Amelia cleaned out the wound. 

“You’re doing good, Cas, just hold still.”  Dean trailed his fingers down Castiel’s sleeve, nudging the back of his hand with his own to let Cas know it was there if he wanted something to hold onto, but he pulled away.  Dean tried not to take it personally.  It might have been for the best actually, because Dean was wading right out into the middle of shit creek with this hand holding nonsense.  The whole point of it was to reassure Cas, and Dean still wanted that, but he also, maybe, wanted the comfort for himself. 

Not that he deserved it.

“Distract him, this will hurt a bit.”

Already Dean was failing at helping Cas and the creeping worry that had been growing all day, that he wasn’t going to be enough to get him through this, returned in spades.  He took Castiel’s hands from where they were protectively pulling the hem of his hoodie over the top of his legs and held them gently.  It was more awkward now that Amelia had splinted three of Castiel’s fingers that were evidently broken.  He couldn’t slot their fingers together the way he wanted to. 

“Cas.  Did I ever tell you about the time…” Oh, shit, Amelia was going to hear this too.  Did he even have any stories that didn’t involve friggin’ ghosts or demons? 

“Uhm, you remember Bobby, right?”  Dean knew Cas did, but wanted to make certain he had his attention. 

Watery, blue eyes that seemed more ocean like than normal blinked up at him and Castiel nodded. 

“Well, uh Sam and I used to stay with Bobby sometimes when we were kids.  Dad dropped us off near Halloween one year and Bobby got us these awesome costumes to go trick or treating in.  I wanted to be Batman, but they didn’t have my size.  So Sam was Batman and I was Superman. We were wearing the stupid things for like, three days straight, and pretending to be these invincible heroes.  Even found another kid a block away who had a homemade Spiderman outfit.”

Cas flinched and squeezed Dean’s hands as Amelia murmured, “sorry!”  But Cas focused on Dean again, like his rambling story was even remotely interesting. 

“For some reason we all decided to climb up on this kid’s shed and jump off.  Superman can fly, you know, so I guess in my mind I thought I’d just jump and be able to fly all over the country saving people.”

“That’s what you do,” Cas said and Dean’s lips lifted in a smile.  It was the first thing Castiel had said in a while that wasn’t just an answer to a question.

“Yeah, maybe.  So anyway, Spidey and I jump, no problem, but when it’s Sam’s turn, he panicked as his feet left the roof.  Landed all wrong on his arm and I drove him to the emergency room on the handlebars of my bike.  Didn’t even think of getting, Bobby.  I was so used to solving problems on my own.”

Amelia was moving on to bandages now, past the painful cleaning part.

“Was Sam okay?”

“Well, he got a little scraped up, broke his arm.  Think the fall stunted his growth, but otherwise he was all right.”

With any luck Cas wasn’t going to ask what the point of the story was since Dean didn’t know.  It had just popped into his head, probably because all the hand holding had reminded him of doing that with Sam, keeping him calm at the hospital until Bobby had arrived and he stopped crying.  Stretching so far back to drum up a mediocre happy story, was kind of sad in itself.  Of course, there was no real happy ending since John had been pissed when he finally showed up to collect them two weeks later.

“Help him sit up,” Amelia said to Dean as she changed out her gloves and began gathering different supplies.

“Up you go, buddy.”  Dean curled an arm around Cas’s back, hauling him up and helping to swing his legs to the edge of the table. 

“Well, you got lucky with this ankle,” Amelia said as she began to wrap Castiel’s leg into a cast.  “It’s a clean break and should heal fine without surgery, but I’d give it at least six weeks.  Your ribs, well, there’s never much to be done for broken ribs besides resting and effective pain management.  I’m guessing you haven’t been doing that and that’s how you got the pneumonia.”

_“Pneumonia?”_

Dean knew Cas was sick, he just didn’t realize it was something that sounded so serious.  He was pretty sure people died from pneumonia.

“It happens with rib injuries.  If the pain’s too great, you tend not to breathe as deeply which puts you at risk.  Managing the pain with medication will help Cas breathe and cough more easily.  Lots of rest, plenty of fluids, between that and the antibiotics I’m going to give you, he should start to improve.  And for God's sake, get him something to eat.  He’s clearly malnourished.  I mean, he’s not normally this thin, right?”

“No, no that’s new,” Dean answered, wondering how much of this Cas was catching.  He seemed a little distracted by the layers Amelia was wrapping around his ankle.

“Mhmm.”  Amelia flung another cold look in his direction.  He’d gotten quite a few already and was growing tired of the judgement.  “Normally, I suspect he might be prescribed some type of sleep aid after going through…” Amelia gestured a hand at Cas. “…all this, but it’s not safe with his current breathing issues.  So avoid those.  And anxiety pills, like Xanex, they can be bad too, so don’t go self-medicating.”

“Okay,” Dean agreed, doubting Castiel would want sleeping pills after being drugged with them anyway. 

“Your guy could have a concussion, I’m not positive, but rest is just really important.” 

Finishing up, Amelia told Castiel to finish getting dressed and walked Dean out the door, urging him to consider taking Cas to professionals who could better help him.  Wanting to do right by his friend, Dean promised Amelia he would if Castiel wanted to, wondering how much pool he’d have to hustle to afford out-of-pocket therapy sessions.

Sam was tucking his phone away as they approached the front desk and he came over at once to inquire about Castiel.  Dean let Amelia do the talking, wandering back towards the exam room, thinking of how upset Cas had been when they left him alone previously. 

Peering in the small window, he could see that Castiel had gotten the loose cotton pants on over his cast.  He let himself in as Castiel was staring down at his feet, one foot inside Sam’s borrowed boots.  Dean wordlessly bent to tie the laces, snatching up the other shoe that wouldn’t work with the cast and leaning against the table beside Castiel.

“How you holding up?”

“Are we finished?”

“Yeah, Cas, we’re done,” Dean said, sliding closer to Castiel and helping him off the table.  They’d only made it a few feet across the room when Amelia was back.

“He shouldn’t be putting weight on that yet.  It’s still drying.  Sam went to get the crutches.”

“I’m holding most of his weight,” Dean grumbled and then complained on Castiel’s behalf.  “Using the crutches hurts his ribs.” 

“Well, it is a walking cast, but I don’t have a boot for it.  Sam’s going to buy him one, but until then it should definitely be crutches."

Dean sighed.  He was already half carrying Castiel anyway, gripping his waist while Castiel’s arm was slung around his shoulders, so he went whole hog, gathering him under the knees and lifting him like yesterday.  Dean had forgotten that Castiel had been unconscious when he carried him before, but he remembered as Castiel went rigid, holding tight onto Dean’s shirt instead of his shoulders.

“Relax, Cas.  I won’t drop you.  Just getting you to the car.”

Amelia held open the exam room door and Sam was indeed en route with the crutches, but he backtracked to the exit at the sight of them.  He stood holding it open, following after Dean to help him get Castiel into the backseat.  They went back in together to thank Amelia and Dean kept an eye on the car, only half listening as she ran through care instructions with Sam. 

“You should tell him you know.” 

Prolonged silence was Dean’s cue that he was a little too checked out on the conversation.

“What?”

Amelia was looking at him and minutely shook her head.

“Cas.  You should tell him you’re sweet on him, because _there’s_ a guy who needs some love in his life if I ever saw one.  At least you clearly care about him, unlike whatever asshole he was with before.” 

“I don’t—we’re not—we’re just friends,” Dean responded lamely, wondering how the discussion of Castiel’s health had veered off course and crashed into this topic.  

“Isn’t that how the best relationships start?”  Amelia asked, with the beginning of a smile.

Dean really had no idea about that.  He was losing his patience, feeling increasingly exposed, like Amelia had him on the examination table now.

“It’s not like that. Tell her, Sam.”

“You know how you feel about him, Dean.  Don’t ask me,” Sam chuckled, half shrugging and waving a hand dismissively, like he needed to plead the fifth.  Fucking traitor. 

“Fat lot of help you are.”

“Just think about it,” Amelia said, with that knowing smile back on her face and damnit if Sam wasn’t making an irritatingly smug, suppressed little smirk of his own. 

Taking two steps back towards the door, Dean didn’t waste time wondering when those two had decided to gang up on him.  The point was he didn’t like it, even if there might be a kernel of truth to their carelessly flung accusations.  You don’t just go around outing people for weird feelings like you’re commenting on the weather.  It was tactless and rude and thank Christ Cas still didn’t have his souped up angel hearing, because he would have caught everything, up to and including, Dean’s flimsy denials. 

By the time they got back outside, Castiel had Dean’s jacket on over his hoodie and Sam’s draped across his lap.  He was curled into the door again with the window down, looking close to sleep. 

Dean drove, intending to make it a few hours before having Sam take over.  Occasionally he checked on Castiel, watching the way the wind lifted his hair as they sped north towards the bunker.  He was really looking forward to getting back home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I'm leaving you too long between updates can I suggest my own fic to pass the time? This doesn't help those of you who have already read it, but I think I'm seeing a lot of new names and the subject matter is similar. I think if you like this fic, you'll like [The Line Begins to Blur](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6174898/chapters/14147803) too.
> 
> Anyway... i guess that was an awkward self-promotion. Oh well.
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos! And the comments! I love them so much and they definitely inspire me when I'm trying to get into writing mode. Hope you liked the chapter!


	14. Chapter 14

For Castiel, sleep came more easily in the Impala.  It was Dean’s car, not some nameless motel that could easily be mistaken for an unpleasant bedroom he’d rather not be reminded of.  In the car, the doors locked.  The constant thrum of the engine cancelled out the persistent static in his ears.  The continual movement assured him he wasn’t waking up to concrete floors and artificial light in the darkness before he even opened his eyes.

The car meant the Winchesters were close, but not too close and he could keep an eye on them both from the backseat.  Without a doubt, the car smelled better than the basement and it was indisputably more comfortable.  Sam told Castiel to lie down in the back, and while it was tempting to shift his weight elsewhere Castiel really preferred leaning against the door.  A sitting position made him feel less vulnerable.  Having something solid at his back and one of his sides was comforting and made it easier to give in to sleep. 

The windows were the best part of the car by far. 

Castiel had his open as they drove through the night, inhaling scents natural and man-made.  Exhaust from passing cars, dirt, wildflowers, manure, he even caught a whiff of pastries when they drove past a bakery.  It was all so fresh and strong, irrefutable proof that he was out.  He had missed being outside and reveled in the cold wind whipping across his face, blowing his hair back as they sped further away from his abhorred prison.

Castiel stared up at the stars, dim from such great distance.  He knew in actuality they were blinding.  The vastness of the sky made him feel small in a way it had only begun to since he became human. 

Small, insignificant, and powerless.  

Castiel slept on and off in the car, waking when Dean and Sam switched places and again when they stopped near dawn for fuel.  The clear, still morning air was crisp and chilly, but Castiel chose to remain outside of the car, leaning against it for support after Dean helped him back from the restroom. 

Standing more or less on his own, on the gravely asphalt of a rundown gas station on some forgotten Kansas road made Castiel think of when he set off from the bunker alone, on foot, nearly six months ago.  It wasn’t a terribly long period of time, but Castiel felt just as lost then as he did now. There was still worry about the uncertainty of his future, confusion at the decisions Dean made in relation to him, shame for his own deplorable actions, and an almost paralyzing fear of making more mistakes.  All his messy, unwanted human emotions were the same, but amplified. 

Though he wasn’t feeling as unsteady as he had been, the weight of dozens of unnamed feelings fought for his attention and made him want to crawl back into the relative safety of the car and burrow into the collar of his borrowed jacket that smelled like Dean. 

Castiel thought it was probably almost time for more pain medication.  It didn’t completely eradicate the aches and general soreness, but it did lessen the pain.  Breathing came more easily than he could remember.  He waited until they were ready to go before climbing into the backseat.      

Castiel pulled his hood over his head as they started driving again and the morning air rushed around him, seeping through his layers.  The zippered maroon jacket was his, well, he'd stolen it, but it had been his after that.  As far as he could remember, he'd left it at some motel months ago, so he wasn't sure how Dean and Sam had gotten hold of it, but Dean had returned clothing to him once before, so maybe he shouldn't be too surprised.  The jacket seemed bigger than he remembered.  

He watched the sky gradually lighten as they continued north.  It was his second morning out and the sunlight was soft and dazzling, pale pinks with streaks of lemon yellow. 

After all the time Castiel had spent observing humanity, he should have known that nothing would be any different. 

The earth continued to rotate on its axis, indifferent to the lives of over seven billion human occupants, not to mention all the insects and animals.  His monumentally destructive six months were no different, were of no importance, but it still seemed fundamentally wrong that the sky could be just as lovely as he remembered it. 

It was absurd.  Castiel had died before.  He knew better than to expect anything to be different because of his own experiences.  

 

Sleep was greatly benefitting Castiel.  His head already felt so much clearer without the haze of drugs and the distraction of pain.  His concentration had improved considerably and he reluctantly abandoned the birds he had been tracking out the window, turning his attention to the Winchesters in the front seat. 

Dean was driving again, occasionally swatting at Sam’s hand when he tried to change the station.  Music played loud enough that Castiel couldn’t make out their words as they spoke to each other.  Most of the car ride they’d left Castiel alone, only trying to engage him once in a while. 

He hadn’t been invited into proper conversation in a long time.  The exchanges he’d had with Mal, Trav, and the others were just words they’d wanted to hear.  It wasn’t the same as sharing thoughts.  It was following orders and parroting practiced phrases.   Silence had been one of his last defenses when most of the men wanted some sort of reaction out of him. 

Castiel felt hesitant to talk to Sam and Dean, worried that they might not like what he said.  Anxious that if he said the wrong thing they would react in anger or decide to leave him at the next rest stop.  More than once since they saved him, Dean had gotten irritated with him.  His hastily concealed rage made Castiel numb all over in anticipation of Dean lashing out, but he hadn’t yet.  _He wouldn’t._

They weren’t going to hurt him. 

For all the thoughts Castiel was constantly trying to keep out of his head, that was the one he refused to let go of.  He couldn’t forget it.  They never hurt him before.  The brothers were good.  They helped people, saved lives. 

Castiel knew that, but it was hard to remember when they got too close.  Hard not to freeze up when large hands reached for him, but it always ended in support, helping him up and steadying him as he walked.  Preventing his body from reacting seemed to be currently beyond his control, and Castiel wished he didn’t need any assistance so it could be a non-issue.   

At their most recent stop he’d tried to use the crutches again, but between his ribs and what he’d been told was a bullet wound to his arm it was just too painful.  When Castiel tried to continue anyway, Dean had interfered, calling him ‘stubborn’ and insisting on helping by walking in step with him to the bathroom, supporting his weight the whole way.

Though it was much more difficult, Castiel definitely preferred walking to being carried.  When Dean had unexpectedly lifted him at the doctor’s office, it had been too much.  Dean had been too close and Castiel was pinned to him with no control over the situation.  He’d kept still until Dean was releasing him.

It surprised Castiel how unstable he felt.  He was especially sore from his hips to his knees and occasionally dizzy upon standing.  Though his ankle felt better locked into the cast, it was clunky and weighed him down, skewing his balance. 

The short excursion to the bathroom had exhausted him, reminding Castiel how weak he had gotten.  Needing help for something so simple irked him.  It was unfair, but necessary to have the brothers by his side. 

Sam was better at helping than Dean, because he told him exactly what he was going to do, where he was going to hold Castiel before he did it, and even twisted the statements into questions of permission.  Dean seemed to touch more of him without warning and somehow managed to hold him closer, more firmly, creating additional points of contact that Castiel deemed unnecessary.  They both got the job done, but Sam was more awkward and gentle, whereas Dean was confident and strong.

 

 

As they drove, the sky had grown increasingly overcast, so that by mid-morning it was rather gray.  When it started spitting rain, Castiel reluctantly rolled up his window until only a small gap remained, allowing air to breeze in and play across his face.  By the time they pulled up in front of the bunker it was almost noon and raining more steadily.  Castiel gazed up at the looming structure, suddenly wishing they had stopped somewhere to eat or buy supplies.  Anything to delay their arrival and thereby his inevitable expulsion from the bunker.

Dean was at his door far too quickly, talking with Sam before he even had it properly open.

“…not gonna melt.  Just worry about the bags.  C’mon, Cas, keep your hood up,” Dean said extending his hand once Castiel had maneuvered his cumbersome cast onto the wet gravel.

Castiel braced himself for additional contact as he reached out to Dean and immediately found himself pressed to his side.  He was stiff after so long in the car and Castiel leaned in, holding a bit more tightly around Dean’s shoulder as they stepped down to the door. 

Crossing the threshold was enough to distract Castiel from their closeness, because that heavy, metal door was going to lock behind him. 

He’d be trapped.

Castiel already knew the first stairwell was the worst.  Not as well-lit as the rest of the bunker, it was just a tunnel into the ground made up of metal steps and dreary stone bathed in shadow.  Behind them the door was still open, but it was already impossible for Castiel to hear the rain or the wind.

“Grab the railing too, Cas.  Step with me.” 

Dean’s voice sounded faint like he was drifting away, fading as Castiel slipped into white noise.

They were walking together, but Castiel felt both alone and crowded by the close walls at the same time. 

The door clanged shut above him, taking some of the light with it.  Sam was probably locking it.  Locking what was possibly the only way out in the entire place.

Both his legs felt heavy as Dean opened the second door and ushered him through into the bunker.  It was brighter here, but all Castiel could think about was that now there would be _two_ sealed doors between him and the outside world.  Escaping would be even more impossible.

Seeking out the windows, Castiel abruptly remembered they were fake, illusions of blue and white light. The bunker was very much underground.  They were at the top of what struck Castiel as another high set of stairs about to plunge down, down, down.

He wasn’t going to be able to breathe.

Every step downward felt like a descent into swampy waters where the muck and sludge was slowly rising, surrounding him, burying him deeper in inescapable filth.  He was going to drown in it.  They were still sinking and Castiel couldn’t breathe.  Couldn’t break free from the terrible suction.  Wouldn’t be able to claw his way out of the murky depths on his own. 

Releasing his hold on the railing, Castiel reached wildly for Dean, missing a step and falling into him.  Dean wouldn’t leave him mired in the mud with the impenetrable darkness pressing in.  And he was too good to get stuck there himself.  Castiel wouldn’t let him go, not if he didn’t have to. 

More than just one set of hands were on him and Castiel tried to pull away, but his success only lasted a moment before he was caught again.  Despite his struggling, he was lifted from his feet at the same moment he realized he really wasn’t getting enough oxygen.  When the hands released him, he dropped into a chair, pain flaring as his legs made contact with the seat. 

It was like breaking the surface of the water.  He could hear too much at once, multiple distressed voices, too loud and speaking over each other so he could barely make anything out.

“…his legs might help.”

“…bags in the…”

“…off.  Quit crowding...”

Hands squeezed his and he spotted Dean squatting in front of him.

“ _Cas_.  Just breathe, man.  Breathe with me.  Breathe in, that’s it… hold it.”

Castiel tried to breathe along with Dean, but he couldn’t quite hold his breath for the same duration and the third time Dean told him to release it, he started coughing.  As he finished, feeling dizzy and panicked, Dean confused him by pressing a paper bag over his mouth.  Castiel might have resisted if he hadn’t been feeling so starved for air.  He inhaled deeply, the paper crinkling in pace with his moving chest.

Weirdly, the bag seemed to help and several breaths in he felt himself calming.  Letting go of his hands, Dean stood up and Castiel belatedly realized that Sam was just off to his side with the prophet Kevin Tran behind him, next to a shorter, red headed woman. 

They were further away from him, but Castiel didn’t miss the twin expressions on their faces, not unlike the looks he’d gotten at the diner and from Amelia, part pity and shock.  He wondered if there was something about his appearance that indicated the disgusting things he’d done.  As of yet he still hadn’t been able to face himself in the mirror. 

Uncomfortable with all the attention, Castiel started to lower the bag, but Dean stopped him.

“Nuh uh, you keep using that for another minute.”  He shot looks at the others.  “We’ll do the meet and greet later.”

They quickly dispersed and Dean leaned on the table that Castiel’s chair was nearly two feet from, like it had been rolled out to meet him.

“Keep breathing,” Dean instructed, stepping away and taking the steps two at a time.

Castiel followed his progress as he made it to the landing where there was a heap of forgotten bags.  Dean picked through a few and returned with a half-finished bottle of water that he rolled between his hands as he sat on the map table, obscuring part of the South Pacific.  

“Okay, couple more breaths, Cas...  That’s good.  You want some water?”

Castiel sipped from the offered bottle feeling increasingly foolish.  He’d only been in the door a few minutes and already he’d created a disturbance and demonstrated how utterly pointless it would be to keep him around.  Dean and Sam needed allies and comrades, not a burdensome liability to look after.

“You wanna talk about what happened, Cas?  Did, uh, did I do something wrong?”

“You didn’t.  I, I…”  Castiel alternated pressure on the bottle in his hands, dimpling the plastic as he pressed at it with his thumbs and considered how to respond. 

“I’m sorry.  I know, I know the bunker is safe, but it’s underground,” Castiel said, not daring to look at Dean as he voiced criticism of his home.  “And it reminded me… the steps and the door, it made me think—”

“Of the basement,” Dean supplied and Castiel nodded.

“But, but this is much nicer, _brighter_ ,” Castiel insisted before blundering on recklessly.  “And I, I want to, to stay.”

Castiel bit at the scab on his lip, watching as Dean’s mouth fell open and he looked distinctly uncomfortable.  

Maybe it was wrong to actually say it, but Castiel had to.  He had to make Dean understand that his mishap was a mistake, it wasn’t how he really felt.  He liked the bunker.  He wanted to stay. 

Castiel was having difficulty swallowing as he studied his hands, wondering if it was too late to say ‘please’ and if begging would make Dean think even less of him.  It was worth a shot, because the thought of leaving terrified him.  He didn’t think he could do it again. 

“ _Yes_.  Yes, Cas.  You, you’re staying.  I couldn’t, I mean, I wouldn’t just… you can barely walk, man.  I’m not going to—look, I want you to get better, okay?  So you’re staying here with me.  With us.  Got it?”

That probably bought him a couple weeks, Castiel thought, more if ‘better’ meant once he was free of the cast and not just over the pneumonia.  Maybe by then he could find some way to contribute so he’d be worth keeping.

“You hear me, Cas?  You’re staying.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t, Cas.  Don’t say that, because I don’t even…”  Sighing, Dean shook his head, abandoning the sentence, but Castiel could finish it easily on his own.

_…want you here._

It was like an obligation, to see Castiel through his recovery before telling him to leave, and Dean always finished a job. 

“I understand,” Castiel murmured to his hands, wishing the bunker were a lot darker or that he was still wearing his hood.

Just like that, his painkillers seemed to stop working and Castiel crossed his arms over his chest because it hurt.

Sam came into Castiel’s line of vision, startling him since he hadn’t heard him approaching. 

“Hey Castiel.  We don’t have a whole lot, food wise, right now, but I made you a plate.”  Setting the dish and a mug of tea next to Dean on the table, Sam pulled Castiel’s wheeled chair closer before adding, “I’ll go shopping later.”

There were three apples on the plate, but one was cut into pieces, next to a blob of peanut butter and a piece of toast with jam.  Sam plucked one of the apples from the plate and nodded pointedly at the other as he sat down.  Dean took the hint and a seat, biting into his apple.

“Thank you, Sam,” Castiel said as he reached for the tea, grateful for the hot liquid despite his difficulty swallowing it. 

“Sure, Cas.  You need to eat something.  I should have given you one of those shakes hours ago to keep your strength up.”

“Apples are bad enough, Sam.  Don’t make him drink those gross things.”  Dean stole one of the apple slices from Castiel’s plate, twirling it through the peanut butter.  “You eat them like this, Cas.”

“Eat your own fruit, Dean.”

“How come he gets peanut butter?”

“You know where the kitchen is.”

“I don’t mind,” Castiel insisted and Dean smiled at Sam around a mouthful of apple.

“And I’m sorry about the, the incident on the steps, Sam.  I don’t mean to be a problem.”

Hoping to appease them both, Castiel took a bite of apple prepared the way Dean indicated, wishing his stomach wasn’t twisted into piles of scrap metal.

“You’re not a problem, Cas.  It’s no big deal.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it, man.”

The tea helped Castiel swallow a few more slices of apple and some bites of toast, but it still felt like he was forcing rocks down his throat.  Sam and Dean had started arguing about their shopping list, but Castiel only shook his head when Sam asked about his preferences. 

He didn’t want to be more intrusive than he had to be while staying at the bunker and he really didn’t have too many opinions on food.  He could barely taste what he was chewing.  Maybe if he convinced at least one of the brothers that he wasn’t completely worthless, a case could be made for why he should be allowed to stay. 

Castiel stared into his mug trying to think of what he could still offer them.

In the past it had been his healing powers, angelic strength, and smiting capabilities that were most often useful.  Now he was just human like them and so far behind on learning any type of specialized skill. 

Dean and Sam were exceptionally self-reliant, but there had to be something he could do.   Cars were a specialty of Dean’s.  Computers were Sam’s.  They both knew the lore and how to research effectively.   Both excelled at fighting and shooting, hurting… Castiel tried not to think about how many weapons were currently in the bunker.

_“Cas.”_

Lifting his head out of his hand, Castiel found four faces staring at him and realized it must not have been the first time Dean had said his name.

“Y-yes?”

“Introduction time.  You remember Kevin, right?”

“Hey.”

“The Prophet.  Yes, of course.”

“This is our other friend, Charlie.  They both helped us find you.”

“Hi, I’m Charlie.  Like he said.  It’s so great to meet you.  Of course, we could have used some better circumstances, right?  But I’ve heard a lot about you, I mean, from before.  Not from recently.”

Castiel was waiting for an opportunity to greet Charlie, but she just kept going, apparently unable to find a satisfying place to stop.

“Not that it’s any of my business.  I mean, it was so I could help find you, because computers, you know?  And we did.  Find you, that is.  And now you’re here.  Oh my god, one of you needs to stop me.”

“Yeah, you’re done,” Dean chuckled, clapping a hand on her shoulder so she’d relax.

Dean’s casual indication that Charlie and Kevin were both involved in finding him struck Castiel as immensely significant.  They’d all played a part in getting him out and even though the words seemed inadequately small, it was all he could offer at the moment. 

“Th-thank you, all of you.  Thank you for finding me.  I didn’t want to, to be there.  It was…”

Many words sprang to mind, but all of them seemed woefully insufficient for conveying the immobilizing dread he felt just thinking about that abysmal room.

“Cas, it’s okay,” Sam said and Castiel started at the hand he laid on his arm.  “We all wanted to get you out of there.  Wish it could have been sooner, but, well, once we knew, you were top priority.”

Bitterness at the thought that he could have been found sooner bubbled up in Castiel and he immediately tried to squash the feeling, but it seeped, leaking through every tiny slit and leaving him with a bad taste in his mouth.  

He had no right to be angry with them.  If it weren’t for their help, he’d still be back there.  Forced to the rough floor, too cowardly to protest, his arms and legs locked into an uncomfortable position from which he couldn’t escape.

A ‘top priority.’  He was pathetic.

Under the table, something nudged against his leg.  Looking up, Castiel realized it must have been Dean’s knee, because he was staring as Cas raised his eyes, locking onto his gaze immediately. 

If Castiel could have fallen any further it would have been right then, tumbling willingly into that bouquet of green and gold.  Losing himself to Dean and not particularly caring what that meant, because Dean represented everything that Castiel had been missing the past six months. 

“You know, Charlie and Kevin set up one of the rooms for you, Cas.  You should probably be resting if you’re done eating” Dean said, standing up and rolling his neck.  “I might sleep a couple hours myself.”

“I picked a good one for you, Castiel.  You’re right across from my room.  It’s in the same hallway as Dean’s, equal distance between him and the bathroom.  Prime location in this joint,” Charlie informed him with a smile.

“You say that now, but you haven’t heard him snore.  I chose a room far away for a reason.”

“That’s a lie and you know it, Sam.  Back me up here, Kev.”

“When I manage to sleep, I just pass out.  You guys could both be snoring into megaphones and I wouldn’t notice.”

“Oh boy, we are going to have to test that theory, aren’t we?  For science?”  Charlie wondered hopefully.  “I can’t be the only one who’s curious.”

Castiel didn’t hear who was interested in that particular experiment because he was still stunned by Charlie saying ‘my room.’  

He hadn't misheard.

 _My room_. 

She had a room in the bunker. 

He’d known Kevin was staying with the Winchesters, it made sense.  As a Prophet of the Lord, Kevin was invaluable, worthy of protection while he deciphered the Word of God.  The angels and Crowley had both wanted him.  Castiel tried not to recall that he had been in a similar situation when Dean told him to leave, but then, he was a soldier and Kevin was not. 

This Charlie though, he’d never heard Dean or Sam mention her before, but she was living with them too. 

Another friend allowed to stay.    

The bitterness was frothing again and Castiel hefted himself from his chair regretting his inability to make a quick exit. 

“Woah, hang on, Cas.  You want to go lie down?”  Dean stepped in, slipping an arm around his waist while Sam hovered his hand just next to his shoulder.

“Yes. I’m tired,” Castiel agreed, accepting the excuse if it got him out of the room.

Dean helped him down the hall, thwarting Castiel’s impulsive need to distance himself from the lot of them. 

“Looks like my room,” Dean said as he flicked on the light and deposited Castiel on the edge of the bed.  “Mattress seems decent.  Looks like they set you up with clean sheets.  Oh, your room came with a robe too.  Awesome.”

The bed did feel comfortable, soft, certainly preferable to the floor.  Castiel smoothed a hand over the cool sheets, surprised when he noticed there were four pillows piled at the top of the bed. 

There was no fresh air in the bunker, not like outside, and the room was a touch musty from having been empty for so long. 

“You need help changing or uh, getting settled in or anything?”

“I can manage.”

“Okay, well, I’ll bring you back some water and meds.  I could, uh, sit with you,” Dean suggested, gesturing towards the desk chair.  “If you want.”

“Go sleep, Dean.  You said you were tired.”

“Yeah.  Yeah, okay.  I’ll be around to check on you later.  And just let one of us know if you need something, ‘kay, buddy?”

Castiel nodded, not looking at Dean.  It seemed to be taking him a long time to leave, but eventually the door clicked closed and Castiel sighed, taking in the sparse room.  Even though he already knew there wouldn’t be any windows, the bare walls still struck him as ominous and he was glad Dean hadn’t tried to turn out the light. 

Keeping all his clothing on, Castiel made his way under the blankets, turning his head to the door out of habit, realizing he was exhausted as he pulled an extra pillow to his chest.  He could smell Dean on the collar of his borrowed jacket and pressed his face into the fabric.  Maybe he should have asked him to stay. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for making you kids wait longer than usual. One of the upcoming chapters was fighting me. Plus, we adopted an 87lb ~~monster~~ dog two weeks ago and he needs some training and attention and love. It also seems to be his tireless life-mission to constantly plop damp toys in my lap or on my shoulder/laptop if I'm sitting on the floor. He was learning 'roll over' today like a champ, but he also tried to eat a coaster, so... yeah.
> 
> New episodes of this show I like are on too, so I've got solid excuses all around. 
> 
> Thanks for your patience and support! Till next time, sweet readers! <3


	15. Chapter 15

Sleeping in the bunker was more difficult than Castiel had originally imagined it would be.  It wasn’t that the bed was uncomfortable or that he wasn’t tired, because even though he was sleeping more than he had ever been allowed to in the basement, he still managed to exhaust himself with little effort. 

Sam said it was the pneumonia and his body trying to heal that fatigued him, but Castiel knew it was probably because of his quality of sleep too.  He couldn’t seem to stay asleep for more than a couple hours at a time, waking regularly and struggling to relax again.  Bad dreams with phantom hands and faceless men would force him from slumber, disorienting him despite the bedside lamp he never turned off. 

While in bed, Castiel always kept his eyes trained on the door, alert for movement, but he couldn’t shake the fear that threats would find a way to sneak up behind him too.

Late during the second day, Castiel was resting sideways with his back to the headboard when Dean came by with soup.  Embarrassed, Castiel had spoken to his hands, explaining that it felt safer that way, but Dean didn’t laugh.  He kept him company while he ate and then returned with Sam and easily rearranged the furniture so two of the four sides of the bed were against the wall which was an improvement.

The bunker could be oppressively quiet and that kept him awake as well, restless in bed because the silence felt thick and menacing.  The hiss and buzz that often filled his ears, loud and alive and something only he could hear, was called tinnitus.  Dean told him it wasn’t treatable.

Sam had brought him a stack of books, but every time Castiel decided to try reading, he couldn’t manage to concentrate and wound up going over the same sentences again and again.  

Sam and Dean took turns bringing him food.  Though he offered to come to the kitchen, they both voiced the opinion that he should just rest for the first few days in the bunker, so Castiel only left the room to trek to the nearby bathroom. 

Mostly Castiel worried while he was awake. 

It was hard not to. 

He desperately wanted to feel well enough to take care of himself and not be a burden to the Winchesters.  Dean was already finding things to do for him that Castiel failed to realize were necessary, fluffing his pillows, straightening his tangled sheets, and closing the mirror over the sink by the door that Castiel purposefully left open to avoid his reflection. 

Even when Castiel tried to tend to these things on his own before Dean came around, Dean didn’t seem to notice the tasks were already completed and would fluff and straighten anyway.  Castiel thought he must not be getting the technique right. 

As much as Castiel wanted to get better, he was also terrified of what that meant.  Once he was well enough, he’d have to leave again.  The thought nearly made him sick on the third day, retching over his wastebasket until he was sweating and trembling from the effort, dizzily falling back onto the bed and breathing through the pain he’d caused to his ribs. 

A few minutes later a loud knock on his door made him jump and he wiped at the tears on his face as Sam stuck his head in the room. 

“Cas?”

He opened the door a bit wider with his shoulder since he was carrying a tray in his hands. 

“Hey.  I brought you something to eat.  Can I come in?  Charlie’s here too.”

The door swung further open and Charlie leaned around it, smiling and giving him a little wave.

“Y-yes, of course.  Come in,” Castiel agreed, struggling to sit up and arrange himself into the position he found easiest to eat in.

The tray Sam placed next to Castiel had a glass of water, a glass of sweet smelling juice, and a plate of mixed vegetables with pasta and grilled chicken.  Everything was cut into bite sized pieces already because they’d quickly realized Castiel’s broken fingers made it difficult to utilize utensils.

“Thank you.”

“Sorry if it’s a bit bland.  We don’t have a lot in the way of spices,” Sam said as he pulled the desk chair closer and sat down, righting the wastebasket that Castiel had accidentally overturned when he pushed himself up off the floor. 

“Except for salt,” Charlie said as she sat at the end of the bed, her hands full of something that involved wires. 

“That’s really a mineral.”

“It’s still seasoning,” Charlie argued.  “The point is your demon-repelling, spell-casting pantry is better stocked than your spice rack.”

“It tastes fine.”  Castiel forced a few bites, chewing each one a long time, since his stomach was still feeling queasy. 

“Charlie brought you something too,” Sam said, nodding at her in encouragement.

“Oh, right.”  Charlie looked down at the items in her lap and held up a small, black device that reminded Castiel vaguely of a cell phone.  “So, this little guy is an mp3 player.  It plays music and other audio files.  It’s just an old one I had, but I loaded it up with a bunch of calming playlists you might like, thought it might help you to just, you know, relax.  Listening to mellow tunes always helps me when I’m stressed.”

She held it out to him along with what looked like one of the ear protection headsets Mal and the others had worn when they shot the gun next to his head.  “And these headphones are extra comfortable, perfect for falling asleep in.”

Castiel took them, not knowing what to say. 

He barely knew this woman and she was being so nice to him, but maybe she just wanted him to owe her something in return. 

“I don’t have any money,” Castiel said, trying to give them back, but Charlie shook her head.

“Oh, no, it’s a gift.  I want you to have them.”

Ever since he’d arrived at the bunker Castiel had been getting things he didn’t deserve from Sam and Dean, meals, medicine, a room of his own, and he wasn’t able to give a single thing back yet.  Every day he became more indebted to them and now he’d owe Charlie as well.

“I… can’t have gifts.”

“Well, then I’ll just lend it to you,” Charlie amended.  “You borrow it, use it.  Actually, if you could test it once a day that would be immensely helpful to me.” 

“Test it?”

“Yeah, I usually listen to about five or six songs every day to make sure it’s working.  Here I’ll show you how to use it.”

She moved further up the bed, showing him the charger and headphones and how they hooked into it and then demonstrated how to pick a playlist and adjust the volume.  It was fairly straightforward and Castiel felt he could manage to test it on his own for her.  Though it wasn’t exactly the type of indispensable skill he needed to learn, helping Charlie certainly couldn’t count against him. 

“Is that supposed to be light reading?”  Charlie had spotted the books on his bedside table, squinting to read the spines from a distance.  She had a point—they were all rather heavy.  “Sam, did you pick these books out?  This is like boring homework reading textbooks, where’s the easy, happy fiction?”

“Cas asked for stuff like that.  I told him we’re not even working any cases right now.”

“You like these, Castiel?”

He hadn’t asked for any of the titles by name, but researching while he recuperated made sense.  The more topics he could be knowledgeable about the better.

“I haven’t read any.  It’s hard to focus,” Castiel admitted, reluctant to reveal another one of his shortcomings.

While he was drinking juice and trying not to spill it, Charlie stole his plate and thrust it at Sam. 

“Reheat this well-balanced meal while I grab a book worth reading for Cas.”

She was out the door right away, Sam smiling after her. 

“It’s warm enough, Sam”

“Seems cold now.  I’ll just pop it in the microwave.  It’ll only take a minute.  You need anything else, Cas?”

“I can’t think of anything.”

“Still have fresh bandages?”

“Yes.”

“Good.  Be right back.”

Castiel had been changing the dressings on his wounds that required it himself, not wanting to inconvenience the brothers further, though Dean had offered to do it more than once.  There weren’t too many areas, but it was still slow going since he was down a few fingers and sometimes got tape stuck in the wrong places.

Charlie got back first.

“Have you read Tolkein?”

“I’m not familiar.”

“It’s essential human reading,” Charlie said, as she brought the desk chair right next to his bed and settled in.  “My mom used to read The Hobbit out loud to me when I was little.  You’ll love it.”

Castiel realized Charlie was about to start reading to him and didn’t even know how to begin to object.  Surely, she had better things to do with her time. 

They were only about a page in when Sam returned with Castiel’s food, smiling at the sight of Charlie and mock tiptoeing across the room.  Castiel wished he could catch some of the contagious cheerfulness Charlie seemed to spread, but he just sat quietly, whispering his thanks to Sam before he left and waiting for Charlie to pause.

“You don’t have to read to me, Charlie.”

“Too bad, I want to.  Humor me.  Besides, you’re probably bored and you said reading yourself gives you a headache, right?”

“Something like that.”

He could never quiet his mind enough to concentrate, but listening to someone else was easier.  Castiel let the words wash over him, trying to imagine the places and characters Charlie was describing.   As she read, he picked over his food, not quite hungry, but trying to eat anyway.  Sam and Dean, especially, were upset when he didn’t eat enough, but Castiel just didn’t seem to have much of an appetite. 

When Charlie reached the end of the chapter, Castiel felt a bit disappointed as she closed the book.  Thinking about someone else was an enjoyable distraction from his own thoughts, fictitious or not.  And Charlie genuinely seemed to want to read to him. 

Just having company at all was a comfort.  He’d been so lonely on his own all those months that simply hearing someone else speak calmed him.  Still, he waffled between wanting to be alone in his room and wishing Dean or Sam would stay longer when they visited.  It was different with Charlie. 

Maybe it was because he didn’t feel like he’d failed her or because, unlike the Winchesters, she probably had no opinion on whether he should leave the bunker or not.  He knew he made Sam and Dean uncomfortable when they visited, but Charlie was easy and he didn’t worry about saying the wrong things to her.  So when she returned from clearing away his plate and declared she wanted to read another chapter, Castiel agreed right away. 

He was soon half asleep, lulled by Charlie’s steady voice and sleepily occupied with wizards and hobbits, completely missing it when Dean came to the doorway and Charlie silently waved him away.  

 

 

 

There was a clock on his bedside table which Castiel liked, obsessed with knowing what time of day it was and keeping track of how long he was asleep.  It was early when he woke up on his fourth morning in the bunker, curled around Dean’s jacket.  He’d grown too hot in the night, tugging it off and holding it to his chest to soften the pain from coughing, but now he slipped it back on over his hoodie. 

Castiel had slept a little better after sitting up with Charlie, he stayed asleep for several consecutive hours, his longest uninterrupted stretch yet, though he’d still woken up more than once during the night.  He needed to apologize for his poor manners and hoped Charlie would still consider reading to him even after he rudely drifted off in the midst of a chapter.

Sam had gotten him some sort of ‘cast boot’ that wrapped around his foot like a flimsy shoe and made it easier to balance, so Castiel decided to try using it again with one of the crutches to get around.  Previously, he was successful, but slow with it and wanted to practice more so he wouldn’t have to be so reliant on Dean or Sam helping him through the bunker.  Castiel got a little hung up at the door when he decided to add the blue robe that was hanging there to his collection of layers.  Pulling it on made him almost drop his crutch. 

Castiel already had several of his own belongings at the sink in his room, but had only really bothered with brushing his teeth, ignoring the new electric razor, keeping his eyes on the drain.  After carefully washing his face, Castiel leaned on the wall, waiting for the rush of dizziness to pass before he moved out of the room. 

No one was in the hallway, so no one had to impatiently watch him slowly making his way to the bathroom and Castiel preferred it that way. 

The bunker bathroom was large and meant to be shared, with multiple sinks, stalls, and showers.  Castiel was in and out with no one interrupting him.  As a shared space, the bathroom door didn’t lock and that worried Castiel when he thought of showering.  There was a singular claw foot tub, but it looked deep and he had no intention of going near it.

When he arrived in the kitchen it was quiet and empty. 

Castiel eased himself into a seat at the table, facing the entrance and already feeling fatigued from his solitary journey down the hall.    

He should really try and figure out how to make the coffee though.  Dean and Sam liked coffee in the morning. 

Castiel swiveled in his chair to look at the many cupboards behind him.  The idea of searching through all of them to try and find the coffee was daunting.  Maybe he could just rest for five minutes first. 

Pillowing his arms on the table, Castiel dropped his forehead to his sleeves.  It was too early for more pain killers, but the seat was so hard and uncomfortable that he kind of wanted them. 

A few minutes later, the table shook and Castiel jolted up, nearly falling off his stool.

“Woah, Cas, sorry.”  Sam was almost next to him, sweaty and strangely dressed.  Castiel could see his bare legs.  “You didn’t hear me.  Thought I’d be better off touching the table rather than you.”

Castiel understood why Sam might not want to touch him.  He knew showers didn’t really help, but the comment still stung.

“What, uh, what are you doing in here?”

No one had given him any rules.

“Am I… not allowed in the kitchen?”

He couldn’t be punished for rules he didn’t know existed.

“No, of course, you can be in the kitchen, Cas.  I didn’t mean you couldn’t.  I was just surprised to see you.” 

Sam went to the fridge, getting himself a brightly colored sports drink that he gulped before bringing a glass of water back to the table and setting it in front of Castiel.

“Must be feeling better, you came down here by yourself,” Sam said taking up the seat across from him.

“A bit.”

“Good, I’m glad.  You’re probably getting sick of that room, right?”

“I like it,” Castiel quickly assured him. 

“Well, yeah, but I meant you’re getting bored.”

“I could help you research?  Look for cases?” 

Sam’s expression turned puzzled at the suggestion that Castiel could be helpful, so Cas began assembling counter arguments to any potential objections, but they never came.  Sam was distracted by Kevin’s silent arrival as he stumbled down the steps going straight for the coffee.

“Morning,” Sam said, but he only got a grumble in return as Kevin started the coffee brewing and stood watching it dribble into the pot. 

“Not a morning person,” Sam explained as Castiel observed the coffee station.  Kevin had only pressed a button to start it and the aromatic scent was filling the kitchen.  Next time he woke up first he’d have to make it.

Kevin mumbled a response without turning around and Castiel couldn’t make it out, but Sam only rolled his eyes.  Once Kevin had his coffee, he left the kitchen, sparing a nod in their direction before walking trance-like out the door.  He nearly collided with Dean who had been coming quickly down the hall. 

“Watch it, Dean.”

“My fault, sorry.  Have you seen—Cas!” 

Dean spotted Cas and hurried over, reaching out towards him and then yanking his hand back when he seemed to realize there was no good place to put it.  It landed on the back of his neck instead and Dean smiled lopsidedly.

It was a good smile, no ill intent, and Castiel realized it was meant for him.  He sat up a little straighter.

“You weren’t in your room.  I was looking for you.”

“Sam said I’m allowed in the kitchen.”

“What?”  He frowned at Sam.  “Of course, you are.  I just… didn’t know where to find you.  You hungry?  I’ll make us some breakfast.”

Dean went to the coffee first, pouring himself a mug and bringing a second one to Castiel.  He leaned in front of him as he set it down, catching Castiel’s eyes and drawing his attention up from the grooves in the table.  Dean had always been able to pull Castiel in, engaging him without a word and leaving him helpless to look away.

“Your eyes look less feverish.  That’s good.”

Castiel realized Dean was very close.  He inched away, mouth going dry despite the water he’d been drinking.  The intensity of Dean’s gaze was a little unnerving and Castiel’s stomach lurched when he saw his eyes flit briefly to his lips before wetting his own and he had to look away.  _Had Dean always looked at him like that?_

Sam loudly cleared his throat and Dean snapped back into motion, stepping away.

“You want coffee, Sammy?”

“Nah, I’ve got to shower anyway,” Sam said, pushing himself up from the table and finishing the last of his drink.  “You’ll hang out with Cas?”

“Uh huh.”

Dean was already at the refrigerator, pulling out eggs and Castiel was glad he went to the stove next, selecting a pan to set on the range and not acting like Cas was someone in need of babysitting.  While Dean started cooking, Cas watched him and drank his coffee.  He was getting used to the taste which was more bitter than tea and didn’t quite live up to the wonderful smell it created.

They didn’t really talk across the room because when Dean tried Cas couldn’t always hear what he was saying.  Breakfast didn’t take too long though and Castiel felt a little hungry when Dean brought two plates over, placing one with an egg sandwich and an already peeled orange in front of him. 

“Eat up, Cas,” Dean said, sitting across from him and enthusiastically tucking into his own.

The sandwich was hot, with melted cheese and smoky bacon and Castiel closed his eyes to savor it while he chewed. 

“Good, right?”  Dean was watching him with a grin that warmed Castiel from the inside out.

“Yes, it’s delicious.  Thank you, Dean.” 

It was the right thing to say, because Dean’s smile grew even broader before he took another large mouthful of food. 

“If you’re feeling up to it today, you might want to take a shower.  I installed safety bars in one of the stalls and Sam got you a stool to sit on if that’s easier.  Might be the best way to keep your cast dry.  And if you wanna shave off that peach fuzz, let me cut your hair, you’ll be looking like your old self.”

Castiel set down his sandwich. 

He’d never be like himself again. 

A shower and a haircut wouldn’t fix him, though Dean seemed to think differently.  He’d made the offer to cut it before, once Castiel was feeling better, but he didn’t feel better, just marginally less crappy.  He ate another slice of orange, but it didn’t taste as sweet as the first two had and the pulpy flesh stuck in his throat.

“Maybe,” Castiel said, raising a hand to the back of his neck and sliding fingers over the raised bit of skin hidden by his longer hair. 

He didn’t think Dean knew about the brand burned into his neck just below his hairline.  It was old and no longer hurt.  Castiel had traced the shape a hundred times by now and he thought it might be a letter, maybe M or H. 

Trav had been the one to put it there while Mal and another man he’d only seen a few times held him down, but Mal was the one who always paid attention to it afterwards.  Licking and biting at it while he drove into Castiel, claiming him with words and calling him _Disgusting, Whore,_ _Slut,_ and other names he could still hear when he tried to fall asleep. 

“Those smell amazing!  Will you make me one?”

Castiel blinked at his plate, recognizing Charlie’s voice and wondering when she’d sat down next to him. 

“Yeah, okay.  Try and finish yours, Cas.”

A small hand covered his on the table and he turned towards Charlie, fighting the inclination to pull away.

“It’s nice to see you in here for a meal.  Did you sleep okay?”

“Yes, and I’m sorry for falling asleep while you were reading.  I didn’t mean to, I got too comfortable.”

“Nope.  No way am I letting you apologize for that, Castiel.  You kept trying that last night too.  You don’t need to say ‘sorry’ for coughing while I read _or_ for falling asleep.  I mean, for starters you’re sick and exhausted.”

“Well, what should I say then?”

“Tell you what, lets operate under the assumption that you haven’t done anything wrong.  If you do something that warrants an apology, I’ll be sure to tell you.  Otherwise carry on guilt free, okay?”

“Okay,” Castiel agreed, remembering that he hadn’t tested the music player that Charlie had given him.  He wasn’t sure if he had messed that up yet, but thought that, maybe as long as he did it before the 24 hour mark he’d be okay. 

Castiel stayed with Charlie while she ate, half listening to her conversation with Dean as he slowly finished his orange.

By the time Sam arrived back in the kitchen, Charlie and Dean were cleaning up and Castiel was leaning his cheek against his palm, blinking so extensively that he missed it when Sam sat down.  Popular opinion dictated that he should go rest and Castiel was inclined to agree. 

The difficult walk back to his room left Castiel even more exhausted, but he couldn’t fall asleep, the endless fizzing filled his ears again, too distracting and loud to ignore.  Castiel reached for the headphones Charlie had lent him, selecting a playlist titled _Sleep 1_ and sinking into the pillows he’d piled around himself.  Relaxing piano instrumentals helped to drown out the unbroken noise until he wasn’t aware of hearing anything at all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween Everyone! 
> 
> Endless thanks for all the comments and kudos!! They mean so much to me! Please accept my imaginary, but heartfelt offering of candy featuring all your favorites Wonka favorites like Everlasting Gobstoppers and Snozzberry flavored chocolates.
> 
> And oh goodness, where did I hide the _real_ candy??? The trick-or-treaters will be here soon!!!


	16. Chapter 16

Castiel put off showering until his fifth day at the bunker. 

Dean insisted on helping him prepare by putting everything he might need within easy access, arranging a pile of towels and his change of clothes on the bench in the bathroom.  Before leaving Castiel alone, he’d placed the soap, shampoo, and a ‘stick with a sponge on it’ that Sam had purchased for him within arm’s reach. 

Everything took too long. 

Getting washed was slow and tiring, and his casted leg and broken fingers complicated the process, but Castiel was able to get through it without any help.  He was pleased at managing to do something on his own for once, hastily drying himself and donning a clean pair of boxers while trying not to remember the last time he’d stepped out of the bunker shower. 

Apart from the modified stall with a new safety bar, nothing in the bathroom had changed since then.  The water pressure was just as decent as it had been.  Towels still hung from evenly spaced hooks along the wall.  The tiled floor was cool under his one bare foot. 

It wouldn’t be the same as before, Castiel told himself, wishing he could believe it.  He still had some time to heal.  The leaving would come later.   

So far Dean had shown no indication that he’d changed his mind and decided to kick him out early.  Castiel still worried, watching Dean closely for any hints and remaining unconvinced when he failed to pick up on any.  After all, he’d been completely blindsided the first time.  He should be prepared for any eventuality, Castiel concluded as he rubbed the towel over his head and covered his face.

Worn out from the shower, Castiel sat on the bench that ran parallel between the showers and urinals, waiting for some of his strength to return before he finished getting dressed.  Putting on boxers had been complicated enough.  The plastic and tape Dean had affixed over his cast had held up well under the onslaught of water and Castiel began searching for an edge to tear the tape off, but couldn’t find one. 

He’d just have to tread carefully until he could be free of the protective bag. 

For the first time, he was without his crutch since Sam had informed him, that technically, he should be able to walk on his own.  The way his leg was casted enabled him to put weight on it and Castiel had made it to the bathroom by trailing his hand along the wall, prepared to steady himself when necessary.  The weariness in his legs had lessened and his balance had improved to the point that Dean following at his side and just a step behind seemed unwarranted. 

Dean had called it progress though and thumped Castiel on the back as they crossed into the bathroom. 

He wanted Cas to get better.  Getting better meant leaving sooner.  Torn at the thought that Dean was pleased by this, Castiel still wanted to find ways to prove he might not always be so helpless.  The electric razor piled on top of his clothes seemed as good a place to start as any.  Dean had specifically mentioned shaving, Castiel remembered, as he felt his fuzzy face.

Decided, Castiel made his way to the sinks, losing momentum when he recalled the length of mirrors lining that same wall.  He knew how to shave without a mirror, of course.  He had done so willingly, probably two dozen times since Trav had straddled his chest, enlisting others to hold him down while he’d shaved his face.  Castiel’s fingers found the section of skin where Trav had purposefully held a blade, pressing into his neck twice in an attempt to convince him to still.  Castiel had struggled anyway, incensed by his immobility and desperate to escape the hands roughly groping at him.

The blood had caught his attention first.  Trav’s hand came back covered in it when he had grabbed his jaw.  Castiel had felt it, warm and wet, sliding down his neck, perturbed that he could no longer gauge the extent of his injuries, let alone heal them.  The threat hadn’t convinced him to stop resisting though, nor did the knee forcing his cheek to the floor when they’d finished with his face and moved onto the hair between his legs.      

Grasping at the sink basin in front of him, Castiel tried to conjure up some distracting thought to yank him from that concrete basement, but the memories swirled, bleeding together and congealing into a spiral of hands and flesh and hurt.

Finally looking up at the mirror was all it took to jolt him out of the past, but Castiel still felt as though he’d just been struck.     

His jerky recoil was enough to convince him that it was, indeed, his reflection staring back at him.

Before he became human, Castiel had never paid any attention to mirrors, unconcerned with his appearance in a two-dimensional surface that didn’t capture any of his true form.  Sustained by grace, his body had been his own for years and never required any maintenance on his part. 

After his grace was stolen and before his introduction to the basement, only a short couple of weeks existed wherein Castiel had become familiar with his features in cloudy restroom mirrors and the glass of stenciled storefronts when he would spot himself walking, no different than the other people passing by.

He did recognize himself now, but barely, brushing his fingers along his scraped cheek and thumbing the nearly healed cut on his lip, not noticing how his mouth was parted in surprise. 

Nearly a week since his last hours in the basement and Castiel finally saw what the others did when they looked at him.  In blinding clarity, he could see the damage, the muscle lost and destruction gained in his wiry arms, his diminished torso, both battered and bruised.  He could see his smallness, etched deeply by months of hunger, a dull and bitter ache he hadn’t been able to avoid. 

During all that time, Castiel had been naked.  He’d looked at his body, his limbs.  He had seen the collection of injuries grow and fade while new ones were added, but it was different seeing it in the mirror alongside his face, recognizing himself under the ruins.   A lot of the bruising was fading, painting his skin in shades of purple and yellow with hints of pale green, but there were also cuts and burns, scabs and scars. 

He’d gotten lucky with his angel warding.  Fortunately, it wasn’t as sensitive as a sigil, the compromised Enochian had remained intact enough to be effective.  It really didn’t matter.  Perhaps he should have goaded the men into severing the text properly.  Angels might have found him sooner.  Of course, they might have left him there anyway.  

Some of the marks Castiel could place with specific moments, the unwanted memories stampeding forward and crushing all his other thoughts.  The triangular puncture wound high on his chest was from his own blade when Mal had been ‘disappointed’ that Castiel had tried to escape again. 

He’d knocked over the man at his side and stumbled up half a dozen steps before someone caught his foot, sending him crashing into the steps unable to catch himself with his hands still bound behind him. 

It went a little hazy there, but they’d taken turns beating him until Castiel couldn’t find any strength to get back on his feet.  That was where the blade had come in, sinking into the flesh near his shoulder.  Mal left it in before shoving Castiel in a small closet, too dark to see.  With his hands still tied, Castiel hadn’t been able to remove the blade and he’d drifted in and out of consciousness, terrified in his waking hours.

That same fear settled over him now, thick and heavy.  Castiel saw himself sway in the mirror and leaned into the movement, his fingers sliding along the porcelain sink as he turned himself slightly so that he could see part of his back. 

Castiel’s knees buckled at the sight of more mangled skin and he collapsed, colliding hard with the floor. 

 

 

 

Dean was in Castiel’s room, mindlessly tidying to have something to do while he waited.  Cas had tried to make the bed, so Dean straightened out the blankets, pulling them back into place on the far side that would be hard for Cas to reach.  He found the iPod Charlie had given Cas in between his pillows and Dean put it on the bedside table, moving the stack of books from there to the desk.  He hadn’t seen Cas reading any of them. 

Instead of sitting at the desk, Dean leaned back against it, knowing he was too antsy to sit still for long.  He had already tried unsuccessfully to wait outside the bathroom door after swearing to Cas that he wouldn’t let anyone else in while he was showering, but he ended up pacing the hall and eventually peeking into Castiel’s room. 

Guard duty was unnecessary anyway, since Dean had informed the others ahead of time to be clear of the bathroom before Cas got there.  None of them had even questioned the request and Dean trusted them all enough to know no one would go bursting in on Cas. 

Dean checked his watch for the umpteenth time and groaned.  It had been almost an hour.  He knew Cas would take a long time since he tired so easily and certain movements still pained him, but Dean hated waiting.  To his credit, so far he had resisted knocking every time he walked back down the hall and listened at the door.

He’d made Cas promise to call if he needed any help and Dean felt he was still close enough to hear, but Cas had been so stubbornly determined to try to do things for himself lately that he wasn’t sure he’d even ask for assistance.  As much as Dean didn’t like it, he was relieved that Castiel’s strength was returning enough that he felt he could try.  That he _wanted_ to try.  Sometimes the achingly vivid memory of Cas deliberately pissing off the man— _Mal_ —with a gun to his face kept Dean up at night.

Cas seemed to be doing all right. 

Physically, he was gradually improving, and Dean was just grateful that he was able to sleep.  After all the crap he’d been through he definitely needed it.  Castiel had sustained so many different injuries that Dean wasn’t even convinced he knew about them all.  Even just at breakfast, Cas had been rolling his shoulder gingerly, halting the movement halfway with a nearly inaudible gasp. 

Dean hadn’t commented since Cas wasn’t keen on too much attention from more than one person at a time and Kevin and Sam had both been sitting at the table too.  He did make sure Cas took his next dose of painkillers. 

Dean was absently opening and closing the drawers on the desk, surveying the old stationary supplies with disinterest.  As he opened the bottom drawer, he caught a glint of silver under some worn manila folders and decades old newspaper.  He shoved them aside to reveal Cas’s angel blade and frowned.

He’d been in the room when Sam brought it to Cas, but his brother had set it on top of the dresser after Castiel’s acknowledgement and quiet ‘thank you.’  It was definitely the same one, because the top of the dresser was empty.  Dean wondered what it meant, that Cas had gone out of his way to hide the blade, but all the reasons he came up with were far from positive, so he covered it again and pushed the drawer closed.

Castiel hadn’t done much talking in the week they’d been together and Dean got the impression he didn’t want to. 

Normally, he’d be the first one to go along with sweeping shit under the rug instead of hashing it out, but it just didn’t seem like a realistic solution this time.  Dean had kept things bottled up before, hell, it was sort of his go to move unless Sam dragged stuff out of him.  He knew how hard it could be and the thought of Cas sorting through this mess on his own was just… unacceptable. 

Dean wandered down the hall, loitering outside the bathroom door and contemplating how he might initiate a conversation that Cas didn’t want to have.  If he asked Sam, his brother would probably be willing to help, but Dean kind of thought Cas might prefer to talk with him.  That’s what he told himself anyway. 

Walking aimlessly to the map room, Dean saw Sam, Charlie, and Kevin all seated in the library, books and laptops scattered across two tables.  Sam was grinning at whatever Charlie was showing him on her screen.  Kevin couldn’t see it from across the table, but he seemed to be amused and listening. 

Rather than join them, Dean just nodded when Sam looked in his direction.  They knew he was waiting on Cas and Dean had already paced restlessly into the map room twice.  He didn’t go as far as the library, doubting his ability to hear Cas from such a distance.

It was strange having so many people in the bunker.  Dean already knew food and supply runs were going to be more frequent, but it was sort of nice walking into a room and hearing honest to god conversation happening.  They were all still adjusting to a full house, but as long as the coffee was stocked and the wi-fi was speedy, the death threats were kept to a minimum.  So far they hadn’t run out of hot water or patience so Dean was counting these first few days as a win.

Dean wasn’t quite back to the bathroom when he heard a thud.  He stopped in his tracks before bolting to the door and knocking rapidly. 

_“Cas?”_

Dean only spared a second waiting for an answer, because he’d dropped enough bodies in his life to recognize the sound for what it was.

Opening the door, he immediately saw Cas on the floor, slumped on his side with his back to Dean.

“Cas!”

Dressed only in his boxers, all of Castiel’s injuries were on display and Dean was momentarily frozen at the sight of him curled on the floor like he’d just walked into one of those god damned videos he had to watch. 

Shit. 

He never should have left Cas alone.

Dean was at his side in a few quick strides, seizing Cas’s bare shoulder to turn him and belatedly realizing that he wasn’t unconscious when Cas resisted, leaning forward towards the floor and pulling his arms in more tightly around his head.

“Please, please, please,” Cas mumbled into his arms. 

“Hey.  Hey, Cas.  It’s okay, you’re okay.  Uh…” Dean faltered with his hands not quite touching Cas, uncertain how to get his attention without contact.

“Cas?”

He could make out Castiel’s shaky, uneven breathing, but got no indication from Cas that he’d heard him and Dean knew he’d said it plenty loud enough. 

Glancing around, Dean spotted the bench with Castiel’s clothing, recognizing the blue robe bundled next to additional garments and was briefly thankful that Cas had been dressing non-stop in layers.  He quickly retrieved the robe and returned to Cas, draping it over him so only his feet, hands, and head were still exposed. 

“Got you your robe, Cas.”

Seeing Cas covered actually made Dean feel a little calmer, because he’d looked so friggin’ small and hurt on the floor like that.  He was going to have to police what Cas was eating from now on and make sure he finished all the food they brought him, even Sam’s crappy cooking. 

Prying Castiel’s arms from in front of his face seemed like a bad idea, so Dean knelt across from him, unsure of his next move. 

“Um, Cas?  Hey, it’s Dean, buddy.  You fell or something.  Hope you didn’t hurt yourself, but stay calm and uh, try to look at me, if you can.” 

Dean waited, drumming his fingers soundlessly on his knee.  He said Cas’s name twice more and was about to give up on this slow approach, because he couldn’t stand to see Cas crumpled on the floor for much longer, when Cas started to pull his arms down.

“Hey!  Cas, good, that’s good.  Look at me.”

“Dean?”

The fear and uncertainty in Castiel’s voice stung and Dean hated the idea that maybe Cas _didn’t_ trust him.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said as Cas raised his head slightly glancing to either side of Dean.  “No one else is here, Cas.  We’re at the bunker.  You’re safe.”

“The bunker,” Cas breathed, grimacing as he pushed himself up and struggled to stick his arm into the sleeve of his robe.

“Let me help.”

“I can do it.”

Dean watched as Cas fought to get the robe on properly, fumbling as he tied it tightly around his waist.  If Cas would just stop being so friggin’ stubborn Dean could have done it in half the time. 

“Are you hurt?  What happened?  Did you slip on the plastic?”  Dean flipped out his knife to cut the waterproof covering off his cast.  

“Dean.  Please.”  It was a whisper, but Dean saw the way Cas tensed as he brought the knife closer. 

“Take it easy, Cas, I’m just getting this bag off you.  Not gonna hurt you.”

One carefully placed nick was all it took to gain enough momentum to tear the tape and plastic off completely.  Crumpling it together, Dean tossed it behind him. 

“Think you can walk?” Castiel nodded.  “Let’s get you up off the floor then, okay?”

They’d had enough practice over the past few days that getting Cas back on his feet was simple, though he swayed a bit when Dean first released him. 

Once Cas was steadier, he insisted he could make it back to his room on his own.  So Dean scooped up the rest of his clothing and followed him down the hall, eyes trained on Cas for any signs of unbalance as he palmed the wall and shuffled along. 

They made it to the room slowly, but without incident and when Cas sank onto the bed, covering his legs with his robe, he was out of breath. 

“Maybe the shower was overdoing it, Cas.  What, did your strength give out?”  Dean set the clothes beside Cas and retrieved the first aid kit from the desk.

“Were you… in here?” Cas was looking around the room instead of at Dean and Dean figured he’d noticed that things were a bit neater than before. 

“Oh, yeah, just tidied some stuff up,” Dean replied, unpacking bandages and the antibiotic ointment. 

“You don’t have to clean up after me.”

“Will you let me take care of your injuries?”  Dean asked, feeling a little irritated that Cas was ignoring his question about what happened again. 

“I can do it myself.”

“I know you can, but you’re pushing yourself too much already, Cas.  Nothing wrong with getting a little help.”

“Dean, I…  I don’t want to be a burden to you.”

“You’re not, Cas.  Don’t be ridiculous.  Now you wanna do your legs first?”

“You shouldn’t have to look at me,” Cas mumbled, staring miserably at his hands in his lap. 

“What?  What are you talking about?”

Dean waited because this was the closest Cas had gotten to initiating conversation and he wanted to hear what he had to say. 

“Cas?”

“I, I’m not good, Dean.  The th-things I’ve done.  I’m disgusting and you can see it, I know you can.  It’s obvious.  I’m just, just _bad_ and you probably should have, have left me there because I can’t,” Cas was gasping now, his slow sentences picking up speed until he was racing through them.  “I can’t fix it and I’m sorry, Dean.  I’m so sorry.”

“Stop, Cas.  Stop it.” 

Dean couldn’t bear to hear another word of this.  Couldn’t stand the hurt Cas was radiating and the conviction in his words. 

“None of that is true.  You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I did.  I went along with it.  The things they wanted.  You know.  You know it’s true, you saw the videos.”

Castiel’s head swung in his direction, eyes too bright and Dean knew he was on the verge of crying.  It was just like that first night when Cas had woken up at the motel.  Dean had tried not to think about that night, tried to convince himself that Cas’s sobbing had just been because he was confused and overwhelmed, but the pain then was the same as now, sharp and palpable.

“No.  No, Cas.  You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

As Dean was talking, Cas looked away, but Dean needed him to hear this.  Cas needed to understand.  And maybe the looking away was an attempt to keep the tears from falling or to hide them if they were already coming, but Dean didn’t care.  Cas’s words bothered Dean a lot more than any damn waterworks ever could. 

“Cas, listen.  You gotta listen to me,” Dean said, setting a hand on one of Castiel’s hunched shoulders to get his attention back.  After an initial flinch, Cas straightened back into Dean’s waiting hand, and, yeah, he was crying now, but that didn’t matter as long as he listened.

“I saw those videos and you didn’t do a damn thing wrong.  You didn’t have a choice, okay?  You were just trying to survive and sometimes that means doing things you hate, but none of it was your fault, Cas.  You hear me?”

“You wouldn’t have done it,” Cas said sullenly, and Dean couldn’t quite fathom why he was trying to make this about him. 

“I don’t know what I would have done, Cas.  I’ve never been in such a fucked up situation.  I hope I never am, because no one should have to go through that.  None of this is, is your fault.”

Dean almost couldn’t say the last sentence. 

It wasn’t Cas’s fault. 

It was his. 

It was _his_ fault. 

Dean kept repeating the words in his head, but couldn’t manage to force them out.  If he said them out loud, Cas would see it that way too.  He’d never forgive Dean.  It made him the worst kind of coward, but still Dean couldn’t say it. 

To be honest, he wasn’t sure why Cas didn’t already hate him on principle, but if he wasn’t making the connection, Dean didn’t want to point it out to him.  He would find a way to make it up to Cas. 

Already it felt like he was failing though.  Fat tears kept welling up in Castiel’s eyes, spilling over and rolling down his cheeks as he blinked at the floor.  More than anything Dean wanted Cas to not be crying and the desire to hug him was suddenly all he could think about. 

“Cas, it’s okay,” Dean said, switching his hand from one shoulder to the other and gently steering Cas towards him.

“You sh-shouldn’t, Dean.”  Lifting his arm between them, Castiel blocked Dean, turning his face away again, but Dean heard the mumbled, “I’m filthy.”

“ _No_ , Cas.  No, you’re not.  That’s not true,” Dean insisted, pulling him into a hug anyway, because if Castiel’s only objection was born from this idea that he was dirty, well, that was one incorrect thought that needed to be squashed immediately.

“You’re wrong, Cas.  You’re not filthy or disgusting because of what happened.  That’s bullshit, okay?  You’re still you.  And the Cas I know is awesome and good.  You’re so, so good, Cas.”

Even with Castiel’s arms still trapped between their chests, Dean squeezed him a little tighter, not knowing how else to convey the certainty of his statements.  There was no one like Cas.  No one as selfless and kind and unequivocally fearless.

Cas dropped his forehead onto Dean’s shoulder and sighed before pushing at his chest and separating them.

“You don’t know me, Dean.”

_“What?”_

Dean tried to cover the edge in his voice, but wasn’t sure if he pulled it off.  Cas was avoiding his gaze again and Dean was just lost and kind of offended, because, yeah, maybe he wasn’t always the smartest guy in the room, but he _knew_ Cas.

“What are you talking about?  We’ve been through a lot, Cas.  If anybody on this godforsaken planet knows you, it’s me.”

“As an _angel_ ,” Cas said harshly, twisting the word into something sinister.  “Not as a human.  You knew me as a… a soldier of God and I’m not that.  Not anymore.  I’m different now.  Human.  You don’t know me as a human.”

Words momentarily failed Dean, because Cas was kind of right.  Dean hadn’t been there during the time Cas was human and the unexpected accusation rattled him.

“I, look, I’m sorry, Cas.  I should have been there.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Cas said quickly, wide eyes looking at him once again, but Dean shook his head.

“No, you’re right.  I wasn’t there, but just because you lost your grace doesn’t mean that you changed.  You’re still the same…” Dean teetered on the verge of saying _guy,_ but thought better of it since they were essentially discussing that Cas hadn’t been a guy at all until recently.  “…to me.  You’re as smart, stubborn, and brave now as you were then.  I wouldn’t lie to you, Cas.  You and Sam are the first two people I’d pick over and over again to have my back.”

“You mean that?”

“I do.  Do you believe me?”

“I want to,” Cas admitted reluctantly, talking to his hands again and sniffling.  “But, you’re wrong, I’m not brave.  I’m weak.  A pathetic… failure.  I know it and everyone can see it.”

Turning one of his hands over, Castiel continued, “I have all these scars and bruises and people know.  They know what I did.  They know how dirty—how damaged I am.”

Dean was in way over his head.  He should have listened when Sam and Charlie had been suggesting websites he might want to look at.   For some reason, he had figured that when Cas wanted to talk he’d be fine just winging it, but he didn’t seem to be making much of an impression.  He didn’t know how to make Cas believe him.

“Everything I told you, Cas?  I meant it.  I meant every word.  Okay?  I don’t just lie to people to make them feel better.  I wouldn’t lie to you.  And I don’t know what ‘people’ you’re so friggin’ worried about, but when _I_ look at you, I see you.  I don’t see your scars.  But that doesn’t matter anyway, because everyone has them.  I’ve got a bunch.  I’d have even more if it weren’t for you.  Besides, a lot of your injuries are going to heal still.  Now that you’re getting real food to eat and some solid sleep, you’ll improve.  You just need time.”

Castiel neither agreed nor disagreed with Dean’s little speech.  He was vacantly staring down at his lap and Dean kind of wanted to shake him to get his attention.  Anything to make him see, to make him understand how important this was. 

“What those men did to you, Cas…”

And Cas must have heard him, because he started to turn his head away at Dean’s words.

“Listen Cas, look at me.  What those assholes did to you was horrible and wrong, but _you’re_ _not_. The way they treated you was disgusting, but _you’re_ _not_.   It’s all on them, they’re the bad guys.  _Not you_.”

It was back.  The blooming inclination to reach out and touch Cas.  Ever since Dean had laid eyes on him, restrained and passed out in that basement, he’d been pulled irrevocably towards Cas, wanting to gather every bruised bit of him to his chest and hold him tightly.  

At first it was dwindling desperation since Cas was finally safe, the squeezing pressure in Dean’s chest lifting once they’d really found him.  The sharp relief that thank god he wasn’t dead and necessary touches to confirm it. 

It was all his fault and guilt that Cas was hurt so significantly had Dean at a loss for how to even begin to apologize.  There were no words.  During their reunion, Cas hadn’t even been conscious to hear any pleading apology Dean might have strewn together as he carried him up the stairs and to the car. 

It was there, in the relative privacy of the backseat, that Dean had made silent apologies while brushing his fingers through Cas’s hair and clutching his hand. 

With Cas rescued and safe at the bunker, he no longer needed to be Dean’s sole concern, but his thoughts were always swirling around Cas.  When Dean was around him he felt like he was circling the sun, powerless to move away on his own and perpetually drawn closer. 

Cas wiped his knuckles under one eye and then the other. 

Words weren’t coming, so Dean leaned incrementally closer, spurred on by his rioting emotions that insisted he could make Cas understand through touch.  Dean’s hand found Castiel’s cheek and turned his face so they were both looking at each other. 

“Cas, I… you…” Dean ground to a halt, because Cas had gone positively still, staring warily at him before he let his eyes drift down and away. 

This was what Dean had been warring with himself about all week.  He had to stop touching Cas without asking.  It really shouldn’t be that hard.  Dean released him at once.

“I’m sorry, Cas.  I keep forgetting.”  Dean rolled his eyes at himself.  What the hell was wrong with him?  “I just…  I want you to understand, to know that you’re important.  And I thought… if you don’t believe what I’m saying that I could show you.”

Cas was side-eyeing Dean and at this point he might as well spell it out for him, just so everyone would be on the same page.

“Like, you know, with a hug or something.”

 “You, you want to hug me?”

“Dammit, Cas, yes.  I would’ve done it already, but I won’t unless you want to.”

“You, um, kind of did do it already,” Cas said, crossing his arms in front of his chest and twisting his robe closed more tightly with one hand, like he was bracing himself before Dean grabbed at him again.

“Well, I shouldn’t have done it like that.  I thought, maybe we could try again.  Do it right.”

It was going to be a no.  Dean could tell Cas wanted to turn him down.

“I, I don’t know,” Cas mumbled finally, not looking at him and Dean sighed.

“You can just say ‘no,’ Cas.  That’s the whole point of me asking.”

Cas didn’t respond and Dean’s eyes fell on the forgotten first aid kit.   Unclasping the lid, Dean mentally berated himself.  He was too focused on what he wanted.  This had to be about Cas.  For once, Cas had been opening up about something and Dean had unintentionally curtailed the discussion by focusing too much on what he thought Cas might want.  What Dean wanted.  It wasn’t fair to Cas.

“Did you want help with the bandages?”

“I can do them, but… maybe you could…”

Cas moved his hand to the back of his neck, dropping his head further as he gripped it. 

“Yeah?”

“Uh, you wanted to, to cut my hair?  You could,” Cas offered

“Do _you_ want to, Cas?  You don’t seem too sure.”

“I’m not.  Maybe?”

Cas was looking at Dean like he might know the answer to what he wanted, which was so far from the truth after his little hug stunt.  Really, he wanted whatever was best for Cas.  It wasn’t entirely his fault if he didn’t always know what that was. 

“Tell you what.  Why don’t you do the first aid stuff, get dressed, and think about it.  I’ll give you some time while I grab the clippers and whatnot.  Maybe you’ll have a decision by then.”

Castiel nodded at the suggestion and Dean left him, digging his phone out of his pocket as he walked down the hall. 

What he really needed was instructional videos.  Fortunately, Dean wasn’t a total stranger to cutting longer hair; he was just out of practice.  It had been years since he cut anyone’s hair beside his own.  Dad had been out of the picture for a long time and, of course, ever since Sam had gone to Stanford and come back a hippie, he hadn’t let Dean anywhere near him with a pair of scissors. 

Dean searched Youtube as he sat on his own bed, looking for people with hair in a similar style to how Castiel wore his.  He figured it was a safe assumption that Cas would want to keep his inherited haircut. 

Once he found one with a ton of views and lots of positive comments, Dean watched, feeling more confident the longer it played.  Most of the technique was similar to how he cut his own hair, nothing too fancy and he had all the necessary supplies. 

After watching the twenty-minute video in its entirety to give Cas time, Dean collected what he needed and went back down the hall, knocking loudly on the door and waiting while Cas unlocked it. 

In anticipation of Cas needing lots of rest, Sam had purchased him all sorts of comfortable looking clothes and today’s outfit was no exception.  Cas had on dark, cotton sleep pants that were a touch too long, (though Dean blamed this on the fact that all his pants seemed to ride a little low despite the drawstring) and a grey Henley under his bathrobe. 

The hoodie and Dean’s jacket, which Cas had been wearing almost constantly in the bunker, were draped over the end of the bed.  Dean couldn’t seem to manage to ask for it back.  Seeing Cas wear it sort of gave him a stupid little thrill every time and when he was feeling particularly indulgent he liked to pretend Cas wasn’t just wearing it because he was cold.

Dean didn’t miss the way Cas took two steps backwards instead of just turning away from him.  His eyes never left the scissors he was holding.  By Dean’s estimate he was more anxious than afraid, so he didn’t mention it, just passed by him and set everything down on the desk. 

“So, what do you think?  Haircut?”

“I’d like to try,” Castiel said from where he stood facing Dean.  “But, you should, should know I have a, a burn.”

Castiel wrung his hands, watching Dean for a reaction.  It wasn’t exactly news, though.  Dean could think of at least four spots on Cas’s body that had clearly been burned. 

“’Kay.  Is it, uh, something I need to look at?”

Cas took a step closer to Dean and extended his hand, palm up.  There was no burn visible, just Cas’s bandaged finger and a nearly healed scrape on his wrist.  It took Dean several long seconds to realize that Cas was silently requesting his hand.

He said something along the lines of ‘uhh’ as he placed his hand in Castiel’s, noting that his friend looked about as nervous as he felt.  Bewilderedly, Dean tried to come up with ways this spontaneous hand holding might be related to burns or haircuts, but he was just drawing a big blank, because _Cas was holding his hand_. 

Dean’s mouth went dry when Cas took one tiny step closer and then another. 

It definitely qualified as the personal space type of close that Cas used to do to him all the time, but it kind of shocked Dean that he was doing it now.  And maybe he had watched one too many soap operas, because for one wild moment Dean half expected Cas to settle his other hand on his waist and invite him to dance.

Dean didn’t move, pinned in place by Cas’s direct stare.  He could feel where Cas slid his fingers along his wrist and Dean started to grip his hand back, but stopped when Castiel’s eyes flicked downwards, his shoulder shifting slightly like he was considering a withdraw. 

Not wanting to spook Cas and stop him from whatever he was trying to do, Dean remained still, allowing Cas to turn his hand so it was palm up too.  God help him, he had missed Cas and his intense weirdo staring.

Cas moved slowly, lifting Dean’s hand with his own and bringing them both to the back of his neck.

“Uh, Cas?”

“You can feel it,” Cas said, holding his gaze and guiding Dean’s fingers higher until they skimmed over raised flesh and hair brushed his knuckles. 

Suddenly Dean knew exactly what Cas was talking about.  It was the burn.  He _could_ feel it, centered right on the back of Castiel’s neck.  Cas didn’t react as Dean traced the edges, gauging the size as slightly larger than a quarter.  It seemed safe to assume it was old. 

Dean thought he had seen the worst of what Cas went through in the videos.  He’d only had him back for a week, but it felt like every day he was seeing more of the horror Cas had undergone.

Cas’s warm hand was still covering his and Dean made no move to take it back, figuring he’d let Cas continue to call the shots. 

“It, I, I think it’s a letter,” Cas said, dipping his head slightly, but keeping his eyes trained on Dean.

“A lett—you mean like a, a brand?”  Shit, that was exactly what Cas was talking about.  “Let me— _will_ you let me look?”

“Slow,” Cas requested, his voice just above a whisper.  He removed Dean’s hand from his neck, but kept hold of his wrist as he half-turned his back to him. 

The burn wasn’t immediately visible, obscured by Castiel’s hair, but Dean found the spot again by using his free hand to push the overgrown strands out of the way. 

It was a fucking brand. 

Those sick sons of bitches couldn’t just settle for regular scars.  They had to go out of their way to personalize his pain with some shoddy looking design.  As far as Dean could make out, it was an ‘M’ with a circle around it, but the burn lines were sloppy and extra thick like maybe they pressed it down twice because Cas jerked out of the way. 

Dean blew air out his nose and blinked at the ceiling. 

Those scars weren’t going to go away and Dean was glad it was somewhere Cas couldn’t see.  They had marked him like he was livestock, like he was their friggin’ property. 

Dean just stared at the brand, baffled about what he should say.  Nothing he came up with seemed good enough and he thought Cas might take it the wrong way if his response was a slew of angry expletives.

The longer Dean had a hand at his neck, the more Cas fidgeted.  It took Cas’s hand tightening around his wrist to make Dean realize that he was holding on to him as a precaution rather than for comfort.  Cas had put himself in a vulnerable position and here Dean was, taking his sweet time worrying about what he was going to say.

“Shit, Cas.  Sorry.”

Dean released him, pulling free of his grasp and taking an abrupt step away while Cas twisted around to face him.

“Is it that bad?”

“Uh, well, you’ve felt it, Cas.  I mean, it’s a burn.  It’s not pretty.  Bet it hurt like a bitch.”

Instantly, Cas looked down and away and _fuck,_ Dean wasn’t used to censoring himself, but he should have.  ‘Bitch’ was just one name on a long list of insults thrown at Cas during those videos. 

“I didn’t mean—that wasn’t about you or anything, Cas.  I just talk like an idiot sometimes. You know that, right?”

Cas didn’t raise his head, he just leaned back against the desk, drooping shoulders and sorrowful silence, like standing unaided had become too challenging.  Dean really wished he had a manual for situations like this. 

“Sit, Cas.  Sit down,” Dean said, pulling the desk chair out and waiting for Cas, who dropped into it unsteadily enough that Dean raised a cautionary hand near his shoulder.  

“Your burn or your brand, it’s messed up, Cas.  No one deserves that.  _You_ don’t.  They shouldn’t have done it.  They shouldn’t have, have touched you at all.”  Dean hesitated as Cas’s eyes shifted briefly to him, the dark circles underneath them still so pronounced.  “Do you wanna try and rest for a bit, Cas?”

“I’d still like you to cut my hair if… if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, sure, man.  Whatever you want.”

It was a task, something to focus on besides the butchered discussion he was blundering his way through.  Dean draped a towel across Castiel’s shoulders, took one look at his nearly dry hair, and went to the sink to wet his hands.   

He worked them through Cas’s hair, weaving his fingers systematically, one section at a time, trying to dampen everywhere.  Once Dean was satisfied, he took up the comb, gently guiding it through, until the strands were neatly uniform.  Cas didn’t move much and Dean wondered if he’d be more comfortable seeing what he was doing. 

“You want me to bring that mirror over,” Dean asked, nodding towards the chest of drawers even though Cas couldn’t see him.  “Could probably prop it up on the desk for you.”

“I don’t want to see.”

“All right.”

Dean reached for the scissors, murmuring “it’s okay, Cas,” as he started to snip around his one ear and Cas rocked away.  Following Cas’s natural hairline, Dean continued to trim, pausing when he got past the first ear.

“Uh, what do you want to do about the brand?  Leave it covered or trim it all up?”

“Will you take a picture with your phone?  So I can see?”

Dean wanted to say no, but Cas had every right to see it if he wanted to, so he flicked off the stray hairs clinging to his fingers and dug his phone out of his pocket.   

Over the years, Dean had worked his way through a lot of phones.  They didn’t tend to hold up well to hunting.  Unfortunately, his current one had a pretty great camera, it kept autofocusing on the brand despite Dean’s attempts to sabotage the picture, hoping it would come out blurry and not look as bad somehow.  He gave up after a few clear shots and handed his phone over to Castiel. 

Dean switched to the other side of Cas’s head and started working there, meticulously trimming the perimeter while Cas stared at the screen.  Soon he was at the back again and needing direction.

“So?  What do you think?”

“I don’t know,” Cas said, sinking a little in the chair.

“Well, I could leave it longer in the back so it’s covered or I could trim it up about halfway so you only see part of it.  The way your hair was before, well, that short and the whole thing will be visible.”

Cas was still just fixated on the image, so Dean gave him more options.

“It’s hair though, so you know, if you go short and hate it, at least it’ll grow out.  Same with keeping it longer.  If you don’t like that, I can always trim it more later.”

“Short.”  Cas cleared his throat.  “Like before.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

Dean took up the scissors again, taking off less than Cas wanted and moving slowly in case he was about to change his mind.  Cas didn’t interrupt though, so Dean cut it shorter, hating the angry red mark under the tidy hairline. 

Moving around so he was facing Cas, Dean combed the hair forward and nervously wet his lips, trying to keep his attention on what he was doing instead of meeting Cas’s intense stare.  The look fizzled though and Cas turned back to the phone in his lap, despite the blank screen.

Dean continued to work, wandering around the chair as necessary while he cut his way across the sides and back.  He kind of liked sliding his fingers through tufts of hair, snipping section by section, slowly helping Cas back to a more fitting appearance.   

It wasn’t until a knock on the door that Dean realized he had gotten carried away with threading his fingers through Cas’s hair.  He’d molded the top into a rough mohawk shape, so Cas had a particularly bad case of bedhead.  Dean had stopped thinking of his disarrayed dark locks as “sex hair” a while ago and hastily smoothed them back down as he called, “Come in.”

Sam peered around the door, eyebrows shooting up at the sight of them playing barbershop.

“Just checking on you guys.  Was thinking about making sandwiches, if you’re hungry.”

“Yeah, we’ll be out there in a few minutes.”

“Oh?”  Sam’s amusement had his lips shifting into a smirk.  “So you’re, uh, you’re coming out, Dean?”

That was so uncalled for. 

“Coming out to kick your ass,” Dean grumbled.

Not his best material, but he was kind of distracted.  Cas was sitting _right there_ , looking curiously between them.

“Uh huh.  And, Cas, are you coming out with Dean?”

“Yes.  We’ll be together,” Cas said uncertainly, fingers at the back of his neck and Dean didn’t have the heart to object. 

“Perfect. The haircut looks nice.”

Sam grinned broadly and backed out the door.  Dean would have thrown something at him if he had anything besides scissors in his hand.  As it was, he was just glad Sam’s dumb joke went right over Cas’s head.  It wasn’t anything he wanted to have to explain.

Dean returned to Cas’s hair, double checking the length and touching up in general.  Overall, Dean thought he’d done a pretty good job, minus the shave Cas still needed, he was looking much more like himself, but he still didn’t want a mirror. 

Clicking on the clippers, Dean cleaned everything up, picking up the pace when he noticed Cas was squeezing the seat tightly.

“Okay, you’re done,” Dean said brushing at Cas’s hair one final time with his fingertips. 

Cas felt his head in a similar fashion to how Sam dramatically decided between melons at the grocery store, but he seemed satisfied.

“Thank you, Dean.  That didn’t hurt at all.” 

Dean opened his mouth to tell Cas that haircuts were always painless, but thought better of it, uncertain how Cas came to that understanding in the first place. 

“No problem.”

Lifting the towel, Dean folded it over to try and trap most of the hair inside.  He’d have to come back with the broom and sweep up the rest. 

“I think once you check it out, you’ll be happy with it.  Ready to go eat and show it off?”

Dean smiled at Cas as he layered his hoodie on top of the robe and reached for Dean’s jacket, but he didn’t get even a hint of a smile in return.  Dean wondered how long he’d have to wait until he saw one. 

They walked down the hall together and Dean tried not to notice that Cas kept nervously reaching to flatten the hair above the brand.  A few steps before they got to the kitchen, Cas tugged his hood up.  Dean didn’t comment, he just stayed two steps behind Cas and pointedly shook his head at Sam when they walked in. 

Smart money said that Sam had already told Charlie and Kevin about the haircut, but to their credit no one mentioned it to Cas. 

Dean tried not to, but he spent most of his time at the table staring at Cas who kept his hood up and his face tilted down at his sandwich, barely eating. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dude. Guys. Kids. Friends, 500 kudos! 
> 
> I am so utterly blown away. I haven’t written too many fics, but this is the most kudos I’ve ever gotten on a single work and it is beyond ridiculously kind and amazing to have such support. 500 ‘thank you’s to each and every one of you beautiful readers! 
> 
> Please enjoy my offering of nearly 8000 words in one chapter. I hope it wasn’t too rambling and boring, but it very well could have been, because the whole thing only covered a couple of hours. Did I mention that the aftermath and healing was going to be a long process?? Because I should have. Because it is. 
> 
> Again, thank you, generous strangers, for all the kudos and always, _always,_ thank you for the comments. I don’t know if I’d be able to finish stories without them. It’s so helpful to have feedback and encouragement and comments make my soul sing.


	17. Chapter 17

 

With five people suddenly living in the bunker, mornings had become sacred to Sam. 

He’d never lived with more than three people at a time, and even though he and Dean had far too much experience with cramped quarters, living out of motels and the car, they had an unspoken understanding.  Guidelines that they both, more or less, observed in an attempt to keep the peace. 

For the most part, it worked out really well.  Dean knew that Sam had zero patience for slow wi-fi.  Sam knew an extra skeevy motel room would turn Dean cranky faster than saying ‘witches.’  They both knew when to keep their distance and Sam wasn’t above buying Dean pie to lighten one of his foul moods.

With the bunker being so huge, Sam had gotten used to more privacy and the endless space.  He loved how quiet it was, unlike motels, often too close to the road, with walls that might as well have been built out of crackers for all the soundproofing they provided.   

Having Kevin, Charlie, and Cas around wasn’t a problem, so much as an adjustment.  Mornings found Sam blissfully alone in the kitchen, meditatively lifting in the weight room (not that anyone else even seemed to know where that was), or unhurriedly showering after a run. 

Dean was always the next one up, with the exception of Cas, who had beaten Sam to the kitchen twice since they got back a week ago.    Sam suspected that Cas might be having difficulties sleeping since the first time he was resting his head on the table and the second time he’d brewed the coffee, but had forgotten to pour himself any. 

Refreshed after his morning run and shower, Sam walked towards the kitchen, expecting to find Cas again since his door had been open, his room empty when he walked by.  He wasn’t there though, and Sam switched on the coffee before wandering out to the equally deserted library.    

Figuring he must have just not heard Cas when he went by, Sam trekked back to the bathroom. 

“Cas?  You in here?”

Sam hovered in the doorway, before striding across the tile and looking around. 

“Cas?” 

Sam knocked on the one stall door that always swung all the way shut, but it was unlocked, bouncing open under his fist.

Bedroom.  Library.  Kitchen.  Sam visited each room again, in case he and Cas had somehow passed each other.  He even walked the length of the library, around the tables, glancing in-between bookshelves, because Dean had mentioned Cas taking a tumble in the bathroom. 

Pouring himself a cup of coffee, Sam tried to ignore his growing worry, because Cas had to be _somewhere_.  Sam couldn’t see him leaving the bunker on his own and with his gimp leg Cas had only ventured to those four rooms so far.  He didn’t have a reason to go anywhere else. 

Unless he was looking for Dean. 

He could be in Dean’s room.

Sam almost spit out his coffee at the thought.  Dean’s door had definitely been closed when he passed by. 

Sam strode down the hall, listening carefully as he reached Dean’s door.  No light came from the opening at the bottom and Sam debated letting himself peek in. 

No.  It wouldn’t be fair.  To Dean or to Cas, if he was actually in there.  Sam found it hard to imagine Cas would be though, especially with the light off.  He’d been keeping his on constantly. 

The two of them had been talking a couple days ago.  It was possible they talked about feelings or relationships or whatever it might mean now that they were in Dean’s room together.  In the dark.  In the morning. 

Stranger things have happened.

Sam decided to go to the market. 

It gave him a perfect excuse to call Dean and wake him up as soon as he was five minutes away.  Never mind that they’d made a supply run just the day before.  He could worry about inventing some much needed food item once he got there. 

After a quick stop at his room for keys and his wallet, Sam headed to the garage. 

He really hoped Dean knew what he was doing, because from what he’d seen, there was no way he and Cas should be jumping into anything after what Cas had been through.  He had half a mind to storm back there and tell Dean off.

Distracted, Sam didn’t realize the lights were on as he entered the garage until his hand hit the switch, which was already flipped up.  That was odd. 

Going straight to the wide double doors, Sam opened them to the tunnel that led out of the bunker.  As he walked up to the car he couldn’t help but notice Cas stretched out on the back seat, asleep.  Sam stared through the window, a little shocked and relieved.  Definitely confused.  Sam knew from experience how uncomfortable it was to sleep in the Impala, particularly when he didn’t have to.

Noting the locked doors, Sam knocked on the glass, rapping a bit more loudly when Cas didn’t stir at first. 

Castiel propped himself up, head swiveling around to where Sam was peeking in.  Rumpled and uncertain from the sudden wake up call, Cas squinted back, watching as Sam let himself in through the driver’s door.

“Hey Cas,” Sam said as he twisted around, resting one arm on the back of the seat.  “You all right?  What’re you doing in here?”

Cas sat up further, moving his feet to the floor, looking guilty as he tugged his hoodie straight and rubbed at his face.  He’d finally shaved the day before.

“Sam.  I, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to—I’ll go,” Cas said, reaching for the door handle.

“Wait, Cas, wait.  Hold on.  You didn’t do anything wrong.  Sleeping in the car isn’t hurting anything.”

Inching his fingers away from the handle, Cas glanced at Sam and then the door, before settling for observing the seat in front of him.

It didn’t seem like Cas was about to bolt again, so Sam relaxed a little, but he was still curious what Cas was doing out here. 

“So um, have you come out to the car before?”

“This is the first time.”

Sam frowned.  Cas was always doing that.  Saying something else when his response really meant ‘no.’

“Why the car?  Why not the library?” 

“There was—I had a, a dream,” Cas said, picking up Dean’s jacket he had been using as a pillow, unfolding and refolding it on his lap. 

“A bad dream?”

“It upset me.  I wanted to… there aren’t any windows.  And there’s so many steps up to, up to the door.  I was looking for another, for an exit.”

“You felt trapped.”

Of course, he did, Sam thought as Cas nodded faintly.  He was locked up for months and then spent less than 48 hours traveling from one basement to another.  Well, Cas was a lot more mobile now.  No reason he couldn’t get out of the bunker for a bit.    

“How about we go for a ride?”

“A ride?”

“Yeah.”

“To where?”

“Nowhere in particular.  Just a drive.”  Sam shrugged.  “It’s nice out today.  C’mon, it’ll do you good.  What do you think?”

Tracing a seam on the jacket in his lap, Cas kept his face turned down. 

“So we’d leave and then… come back? Later?”

“Yeah, pretty much.  Figure a couple hours, tops.  Get some sunshine, some fresh air.  Wouldn’t you like that?” 

“Yes.”

“Okay, good.”

Sam started to turn around, but then he remembered he wasn’t a chauffeur.

“Why don’t you hop up front?  Ride shotgun,” Sam said, tipping his head to indicate the spot next to him.

Cas’s eyes swiftly met Sam’s and, for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was under Cas’s microscopic gaze again, complete with head tilting and brow creasing like he was changing lenses and adjusting the focus to see more clearly.  Sam smiled.  He had missed the scrutiny.

“All right,” Cas answered, before letting himself out of the back.  Climbing in up front, he sat down with the jacket added to his ensemble as Sam turned the key in the ignition.

 

 

As soon as they got topside and the radio reception picked up, Sam cut off the classic rock, sick of the only two stations Dean always listened to in this part of Kansas.  He settled for country music and left the volume low.    

Cas was completely engrossed in the window, leaning towards it like a plant following the sun. 

“You can roll it down if you want,” Sam suggested and Cas quickly took him up on the offer, resting his arm where the glass disappeared and relaxing more when he settled back into the seat again.

Sam left Cas to his thoughts as he drove north towards a little café he liked.  It was his first extended period of time alone with Cas and it seemed like a perfect chance to check in and see how he was doing.  Sam didn’t want to rush it though, and stuck with the silent driving for a while, partially curious if Cas would start conversation unprompted. 

The silence continued until Sam parked the car outside a café.  Cas tore himself from the window to look curiously at him.

“Since we’re skipping breakfast I was going to buy a couple smoothies.  Sound good?”

“Okay.”

“You want coffee too?  Or something else?”

“A smoothie is fine.”

Cas had paused a beat before the word ‘smoothie’ and Sam wasn’t convinced that he knew what it was, but he was pretty certain he’d like it.  Cas hadn’t rejected any of the different fruit he’d been trying at the bunker, much to Dean’s dismay.   Though Cas had been human for a while now, Sam had to keep reminding himself that he still had a lot of firsts he hadn’t experienced yet.  It was very likely smoothies were one of them. 

He told Cas he’d be right back and set off across the street, texting Dean as he walked into the shop.  If he didn’t realize they were missing yet, he soon would and Sam knew he’d be worried like crazy about Cas.

_Sam:  Out for a drive with Cas.  He was overdue for some fresh air._

Sam didn't even have a chance to tuck his phone back into his pocket before it was pinging with a response. 

_Dean: You took off with Cas in my car?_

So, Dean was awake.  Sam snorted.  It’s not like he would’ve borrowed Charlie’s yellow Gremlin.

_Sam: yeah. Don’t worry, I’ll bring them both back in one piece._

Collecting his order, Sam returned to the car, amused to see Cas with both arms on the door and his head resting on top so his face was as close as it could be to being out of the car.  As a human, Cas’s posture had become a lot less rigid, and Sam wondered if his previous stiffness had been directly related to occupying a vessel.   

“I got you raspberry banana with peanut butter,” Sam said as he took the drinks off the roof and sat back down in the car, handing over the one tinged light pink to Cas.

“Thank you, Sam.”

“Sure thing.  Hey, can you get my sunglasses out of the glove box?”

It was getting pretty bright as the sun climbed higher in the sky.  Cas ducked his head to look amongst the old phones and fake IDs filling the compartment.  Sam sipped his own drink (Ginger Blueberry with Oats), coughing over a mouthful when he spotted a nasty looking mark just beneath Cas’s hairline.

All at once Sam realized why Cas had been keeping his hood up over his new haircut the past couple days.  Sam quickly looked elsewhere as Cas handed him the glasses.  He wasn’t about to bring up an injury Cas had been keeping hidden. 

Starting the car, Sam got them back on the road still heading away from the bunker.  He mentioned that Dean’s sunglasses were in the box of cassette tapes and Cas tried them on a minute later. 

They drove in silence for a while.  Sam didn’t even bother to ask if Cas liked his smoothie or not, because his drink was disappearing at a steady rate. 

Eventually, Sam decided he couldn’t waste the opportunity any longer.  He’d been letting Dean take the lead on talking with Cas and was really overdue on checking in with him. 

“So, Cas.  How’ve you been doing?  You feeling all right?”

Sam glanced from the road over to Cas who still had his mouth around his straw.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

Cas was thumbing at the edge of his lid, the plastic making a tiny cracking sound.

Sam couldn’t believe he’d asked Cas a ‘yes or no’ question.  He knew better than that.  Adjusting his grip on the steering wheel, he cleared his throat and tried again. 

“I know Dean and I don’t always open up about feelings and uh, problems we have, but you can talk to me about anything, like your bad dream or how you like the bunker or stuff that’s upsetting you. Anything.  It’s important to speak up so we know what’s going on with you.  And I get that you’re only just starting to feel better physically, but I didn’t even think about how you might want to leave.  I guess I should have, because—”

“I don’t.  I don’t want to leave,” Cas interrupted, abruptly turning towards Sam.  “I like the bunker.”

“Well, sure, Cas, I didn’t mean _leave_ leave, like permanently.  I meant just to get out for a while, like we’re doing now...  You know that, right?  No one wants you to leave.”

“Do you have a case?  I could help with that.”

“Hmm, nothing right now.  There was something that might have been our kind of thing, but it was way up in the northeast.  Dean made a couple of calls and found hunters a lot closer who were going to check it out.”

“I could help you look for a case nearby.”

“I know you want to help, Cas, but we’re just, you know, taking a little break,” Sam said, purposefully leaving out the part about them not wanting to leave Cas just yet.

“Sam, I’ve been in your home for more than a week.  I need to contribute somehow.”

Frustration seeped into Castiel’s voice and Sam tried to keep his response lighthearted.

“Honestly, Cas, unless you’ve got a penchant for doing laundry we don’t know about, I think we’ve got everything under control.  You’re only job right now is to rest and heal.  We can worry about everything else when you’re feeling better.” 

Cas didn’t answer and with the sunglasses on Sam couldn’t get a good read on him.  Cas didn’t make it any easier on him by turning away, choosing to watch the fields of spring green grass racing past. 

Slowing down to make a turn, Sam considered if he should keep Cas on that same topic or broach a new one.  He knew what it was like to be sidelined when all you wanted to do was fight.  Cas really did need a break though, he’d already been fighting to survive for months. 

Right on cue, Cas started coughing, one hand sliding to his ribs and the other coming up so he could press his mouth into his sleeve.  Sam wished he had water or hot tea for Cas and considered stopping again, but Cas just took an obligatory sip of his smoothie once he got through the worst of it. 

Early into the drive they had crossed the state line into Nebraska and a road sign told Sam that they were more than half-way to Hastings.  Sam had already looked it up and Hastings was the closest city where they could get free STD testing done.  A dry run might go a long way towards helping Cas warm up to the idea.

Sam was about to open his mouth to mention the clinic when Cas beat him to it.

“How did you meet Charlie?”

Sam shrugged.

“Same way we meet everyone.  Working a case.  She was an employee at Roman Enterprises.  We’ve actually run into her on a couple cases now.”

“So, she’s a hunter?”

“Well, she wasn’t, but she’s been working towards that.  I’d say she’s in training, but she’s already taken on a few cases on her own.  She’s pretty resourceful.”

If the slight headshake and tiny sigh was anything to go by, Cas actually seemed a little put off by this information. 

“You uh, you like Charlie, right?”

“Yes.  I like Charlie.  She’s very nice,” Cas mumbled woodenly.  “I understand why you’d want her around.  She seems like a good friend.”

“Yeah, she is.  I’m glad you two are getting along,” Sam said, uncertain about his tone.  “She’s kind of brilliant.  Especially with computers.  That’s her real specialty: hacking.”

“Hacking?”

“Mhmm.  You know, accessing databases, cameras, anything online that’s encrypted or off limits to regular people, that sort of thing.”

Attempting to keep the topic on Charlie, Sam asked how he was enjoying The Hobbit, but Cas no longer seemed interested in discussing her.  He simply said the book was good before lapsing into silence.  Cas tilted himself towards the window again as Sam drove closer to the city. 

They were nearly there and now seemed as good a time as any to mention to Cas where he was driving, but Sam hesitated, unexpectedly embarrassed.  It was an odd subject to bring up to an angel, a _former_ angel, and Sam couldn’t even remember if Amelia or Dean had mentioned it to him after his check-up. 

Weighing his words, Sam stalled for time.  He could tell they were in the right part of town, but Cas must have noticed that he was slowing down to read the street signs.

“Are we stopping somewhere else?”

“Actually, we are.”

Cas didn’t ask any follow up questions and Sam let his answer hang between them as he turned onto the correct street. 

“Okay, Cas.  So, I don’t know if anyone told you directly, but… well, humans, when we have sex, we need to use protection.  It’s pretty important and when people don’t use protection—”

“You mean condoms.”

“Um, yeah.  Right,” Sam said, surprised at how quickly Cas understood.  Uncomfortably, he recalled when Dean mentioned ‘protection’ six months ago, and Cas had mistakenly talked about his angel blade.  And oh god, he’d slept with that reaper and been tortured afterward.  Sam had nearly forgotten about that detail. 

Newly horrified on Cas’s behalf, Sam struggled to pull himself together.

“So, when people don’t wear condoms, they have to get tested.  The tests check for STDs, um, diseases you can get from having unprotected sex.”

Sam twisted in his seat, parallel parking the car and giving Cas a moment to digest.  Cutting the engine, he looked at Cas just in time to see the hands on his thighs curl into fists.

“And I didn’t use any.”

“Not _you_ , Cas.  You didn’t have any control over the situation.  But, to be safe, you still need to get tested.  Not today, well,” Sam gestured past Cas towards the sidewalk.  “This is the place.  I thought maybe we could go in.  They probably have brochures we could take home and read.  And we can talk about it, in case you have questions.  Then in a few days, when you’re ready, we’ll come back and get you tested.”

Rubbing at one of his arms, Cas slouched in his seat.

“What kind of test?” 

“It’ll be several different ones.  I think they take a urine sample, a blood sample, maybe a cheek swab, uh, a urethral swab, I think.  They’ll also ask you questions or maybe have a questionnaire to fill out.  If you’ve got any rashes or sores they’ll have to look at them.  So, it’s basically a check-up for all the areas that… that Amelia didn’t check,” Sam said, watching Cas deflate next to him.

Coming early was definitely for the best.  Sam could tell Cas would need to take a day or two to process all this.

“Do you want to walk in with me?  Check the place out?”   

With his arms wrapped across his middle, Cas sank further into the seat, dropping his head back against the leather, sunglasses pointed up at the ceiling.  While Cas decided, Sam busied himself with his phone so he wasn’t just staring.

“Can we just do it today?

“What?  Do the test _now_?  Don’t you want to wait until you’re ready?”

“I won’t ever be ready, Sam.  I just, I don’t want to have to think about this for days.”  Cas undid his seatbelt and sat up properly as he looked at him.  “Is there any reason we can’t get it over with now?”

None were coming to mind.  They were early enough the wait might not be too bad.  Sam even had the fake ID he’d made for Cas in his wallet. 

“Well, they do take walk-ins...  I guess we can see how long the wait is, but are you sure, Cas?  We could come back tomorrow or even later today with Dean.”

“Let’s do it now,” Cas said, exiting the car and leaving Sam gaping at his empty seat before he scrambled to follow.

Sam caught up to Cas easily, slowing to match his pace.  They entered the building together and Sam wondered if he should be trying to talk Cas out of this.  Getting tested today wasn’t part of the plan at all, but it needed to be done and sooner _was_ better. 

After directing Cas into one of the plastic chairs in the waiting room, Sam made his way to the front desk.  The woman there helped him sign Cas in while Sam explained that he was there to get tested and requested a female doctor.

“So, I know they’ll ask about sexual history, is there any chance you have a paper version of those questions?  My friend gets really uncomfortable talking about that sort of thing,” Sam said, glancing back at Cas who looked particularly out of place with his sunglasses still on.

“Oh, no.  That’s all confidential and conducted privately with a nurse.”

“Right,” Sam mumbled as she turned away to answer the phone. 

Stopping for a few pamphlets on his way back, Sam gave them to Cas as he sat down.  Cas took one look at the top one and set them all on the empty chair next to him.  He was obviously anxious, smoothing his palms over the fabric of his pants and looking back and forth between the other people waiting.  This was way too much for his first day out of the bunker.

“Just take it easy, Cas.  We can still leave if you want,” Sam whispered, but got no reaction.  Cas’s breathing was picking up and it took Sam way too many inhales to realize Cas hadn’t heard him at all.

“Cas, hey, it’s all right,” Sam said nudging him and speaking more loudly next to his ear.  “Take off the sunglasses.  We don’t have to stay, Cas, but if you want to do this you need to calm down, okay?”

Cas nodded a few too many times and with the glasses off Sam could read him like a book.  A number was called from the front desk area and one of the other people waiting disappeared with a nurse.  Cas watched the whole thing wide-eyed.

“How can I help you, Cas?  Do you want some water?  Do you want to call Dean?”

“I, I’m…”  Cas’s eyes were still bouncing around the office, eventually pausing on the restroom door.  “I’ll be right back.”

Sam watched as Cas disappeared into the bathroom, weighing the merits of chasing after him.  After rejecting such a dramatic response, he paced in front of their vacated seats, a lot less certain than he’d been on the drive here. 

Cas hadn’t asked to be followed.  Yeah, he was maybe freaking out a little bit, but he excused himself to go calm down, right? 

Once five minutes had passed, Sam gave in and dug out his phone.

Dean picked up on the second ring.

“Hey Sam.”

“Hey.”

“Still out joyriding?”

“Not exactly.  I think I may have messed up.”

“What?  Why?  What happened?  Is Cas okay?”

The background noise on Dean’s end died out and Sam knew that whoever Dean was sitting with heard the concern in his voice too. 

“He’s okay, I think, but he’s kind of upset.”

“What did you do?”

“Well, I thought it’d be a good idea to stop in Hastings, at the free clinic.  Like a dry run, you know?”

“Uh huh.” 

“And Cas decided he wanted to just get it over with today.  So, we’re waiting to be seen, but he’s really nervous.”

“Put him on the phone.”

“That’s the other thing.  He’s in the bathroom, but he went in almost ten minutes ago.”

Dean cursed and then began filling Charlie in on what was happening while Sam stared at a brightly colored poster listing various types of contraception.

“We’re coming up there,” Dean said, finally speaking directly to Sam again.

“You don’t have to drive up here,” Sam hissed, ducking out the office door to argue properly.  “I just want a second opinion.  Should I go in after him or give it five more minutes or just wait?”

“I’d go in,” Charlie piped up and Sam wondered exactly when Dean switched it to speaker.  “Unless he said stay out.  It’s been long enough to warrant checking in.”

Distantly Sam heard Dean agreeing and the jangle of keys. 

“Okay, so I’ll check on him and then text you.  You don’t have to come all the way up here.”

“Sam.”  Dean’s voice rang through the speaker loud and clear.  “You’re calling for help and Cas hasn’t even gone into the exam room yet.  And what’s your plan once he does?  Huh?  Are you going in with him?  Maybe you should just bring him home.”

“No,” Charlie interjected, “that’s not—gimme the phone, Dean.  You just drive.  Sam?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“I think if Cas has decided that this is what he wants to do, then you should go along with it.  He has to get tested.  So, if he’s ready now, support him.  Check in with him, let him know you’ll listen if he changes his mind or wants to wait for us, but do what he wants.  And for the love of Loki, offer to go in with him.  Offer to give him a hug, or hold his hand or rub his back or whatever.  Whatever he needs to feel safe.”

“Yeah.  Yeah, you’re right.  I can do that.  I will.”

“Good,” Charlie said, slightly breathless after her little speech.

“Is he _still_ in the bathroom?” Dean asked over the sound of a car starting.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Sam admitted, turning back towards the office.  “I can’t see the door anymore.  I went out into the hall.”

“What the frack, Sam!?” 

“Yeah, man. Get in there!”

All the yelling had Sam yanking the phone away from his ear. 

“Okay, okay, I’m going!”

Sam hurried off the phone and back to the waiting room, yanking the door open with a little too much force.  He spotted Cas at once, backed up against the restroom door, one hand behind him still resting on the knob like he was considering going back in.  Sam’s bolstered confidence frayed as Cas kept standing there, feet frozen in place as he stared unblinking at the floor.  Sam realized he hadn’t just come out. 

Sam rushed across the room, stopping at his side.

“Cas.  I’m so sorry.  Dean called.  I left to talk to him.  Are you all right?”

It was a stupid question.  Sam could see Cas wasn’t okay.  His skin was all clammy and he was faintly shaking as he met Sam’s eyes once, before averting his to the floor again.  The hurt and disappointment in one look seared Sam.  He had let his friend down and the thought of his accidental betrayal lingered like a burn.  

“I’m sorry,” he said again, uselessly.  “C’mon, Cas.  Let’s go sit down.”

Sam gestured back at the chairs behind him and Cas peeled himself away from the door.  He seemed a little unsteady, so Sam offered his arm, but it was ignored. 

Collapsing into the nearest seat, Cas plopped his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands, pressing his palms to his eyes.  With Cas hunched over, the wound on his neck was prominently displayed.  Sam recognized it as some sort of symbol burnt into his skin and felt momentarily sick.

“Cas?  How’re you feeling?”

“I vomited,” Cas said, without raising his head. 

“That’s okay.  It happens.  Do you still feel nauseous?  Do you want some water?”

“They had cups in the bathroom.”

“You know you don’t have to do this right now, Cas.  We can come back later.”

“I know,” Cas sighed and sat back, rubbing at one wrist and then the other.  The skin there was finally healed enough that he no longer had them wrapped in bandages.  “I just want to do it now.”

“I support that.  Would you want me to go in with you?  A friendly face while you get checked out.”

Sam was glad Dean wasn’t around to hear him reciting the dialogue Charlie had all but written for him, but he really wanted to get this right for Cas.  It was best not to veer too far from the script and Charlie’s advice had sounded very practical.

The offer seemed to surprise Cas though and he opened and closed his mouth deciding on an answer.

“I don’t… I don’t think so.”

“Well, I’ll do whatever you want, Cas.  I can stay right with you or wait here until you’re finished.  It’s up to you.”

Sam lightly touched his fingertips to Cas’s arm and gave him a small smile that was meant to be encouraging. 

“Thank you, Sam.”

“Of course, Cas.  That’s what friends are for, right?”

Cas kind of nodded and Sam noticed how his hair was in complete disarray.  That was really his fault for suggesting the drive without giving Cas a chance to change into jeans or get ready.  At least the solid-blue sleep pants didn’t look half-bad and Cas was somehow pulling off the messed-up hair look.  If Dean hadn’t cut it, it would probably be looking completely out of control right now.  

As Cas shifted in his seat, a twinge of pain clouded over his worried expression and Sam realized the other problem with leaving the bunker so promptly. 

“Did you not take your meds today, Cas?”

“I finished my antibiotic yesterday.”

“What about something for pain?”

“I, I’m overdue, but it’s not that bad.”

“I think I have ibuprofen out in the car.  It’ll be better than nothing,” Sam said, getting up from his seat, but Cas’s hand shot out and caught his wrist, stopping him.

“ _Stay_.  Please, Sam.  Stay with me.”

“It’ll only take a minute.  I’ll be right back,” Sam said, but Cas’s grip only tightened.

“I don’t want to be alone.”

“All right, sure, Cas.  Of course.”

Sam settled back into his chair watching Cas nervously twisting his hands.  He didn’t really get it.  What he was hearing was that Cas didn’t want to be alone in the waiting room, but that he would be okay alone in the exam room.  It didn’t quite add up, but Sam wasn’t about to argue with him. 

A woman a few seats away got up to head in their direction, but instead of passing by she slowed down as she approached.

“Hi.  I couldn’t help but overhear.”  That was probably true.  Sam forgot he was speaking more loudly than necessary for Castiel’s benefit.  “But I have some Tylenol if you’d like it.”  Producing a bottle from her purse, she started to hold it out to Cas, but noticed his splinted fingers and popped the lid herself.

“Thank you,” Sam said, accepting the bottle when Castiel didn’t.  “That’s really nice of you.”

“I’ll get you a cup of water too.”

She disappeared into the bathroom and Cas whipped around nearly knocking the pills out of Sam’s hand.

“Cas, what’re you—”

“You can’t trust her, Sam.  You have to throw those away,” Cas hissed, shooting an angry look back at the bathroom door. 

“No, Cas.  She’s okay.  She’s just trying to help.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Actually, I do.”

“ _How?_   How could you know?”

Explaining his lifelong experience in deciphering human behavior and intentions wasn’t exactly an option.  Nor was Sam sure he could even put into words what role observation and instinct played in evaluating others.  Cas had been treated terribly by strangers for months and Sam knew he wasn’t about to start trusting them again. 

“Just trust me, Cas.” 

The woman was on her way back, smiling and presenting a cup of water.  Clearly dissatisfied with Sam’s answer, Cas sulked in his chair, watching sullenly while Sam thanked her again.  When she had finally retreated to her seat, Sam turned his back on her, focusing on Cas

“Will you please take the medicine?  It’ll help you feel better.  And I know they’re what the bottle said.  I’ve had this brand a bunch of times.”

Sam remembered Dean voluntarily taking the same medicine as Cas the first night they were reunited and decided to try the same approach.  He’d wanted Cas to take all three pills since he was used to something stronger, but if having to settle for two was what it took to get Cas to acquiesce then it’d be worth it. 

His swallowing demonstration worked and Cas unhappily took what was left, draining the cup of water while Sam answered a text from Charlie.  She responded to his update suggesting music or something to distract Cas and Sam was in the process of pulling up some instrumental video when a nurse emerged and called their number.

“That’s us, Cas,” Sam said, standing up.  “You feel ready?”

Cas made it out of his chair, but he looked so alarmed Sam half-expected him to call the whole thing off and bolt for the exit.  Somehow, he made his feet work, forcing himself into motion and allowing Sam to guide him with a soft hand on his back. 

Sam leaned in as they crossed the room, making the offer again.  “I can still go in with you if you want, Cas.  Just say the word.”

“That’s okay, just, please don’t leave me here.”

“Of course not, Cas.  I’ll stay right out here waiting for you,” Sam promised.  “And you can trust the nurses and doctors, they just want to help, okay?  Tell them if you want me.”

Cas gave the barest of nods, attention already diverted to the bored woman waiting on them.  She stepped to the side to let Cas walk stiffly past her, through the door and Sam took the opportunity to motion her forward, speaking quietly so Cas wouldn’t hear him.

“Hey.  Hi, um, that’s my friend and he’s really nervous.  If you could just be extra nice to him and maybe let the other doctors know—”

“Your friend’s a big boy.  Chart says he’s here for some tests.  I’m sure he’ll be fine,” she said, starting to turn away.

“Well, wait!  I’m serious.  He’s been through some,” Sam saw Cas carefully watching their exchange, brow furrowed, and he lowered his voice further, “…trauma.  He was, uh, repeatedly raped.  So, just, please be careful.”

Sam had broken a lot of bad news to people in his life. 

 _Your house is haunted.  It was too late to save her.  They were all out of pie._  

After this particularly horrible revelation, the reaction he was anticipating never came.  No shock, no sympathy, no concern.  The woman looked between the two of them, her confusion morphing into something judgmental that made Sam tempted to march Cas straight out of there.    

“Is that a problem?”

“No.  No problem.  We’ll get your _friend_ tested and back out to you,” she said, suddenly showing renewed interest in her clipboard.

“I’m Sam.  If he asks for me, come get me!”  Sam raised his voice as she was shutting the door on him. 

Unbelievable.  Sam had no idea how this day had gotten so out of his control. 

As he sat waiting, Sam continually debated the pros and cons of taking Cas to a different facility to be tested, but, ultimately, he was resigned to staying.  Cas was already in there and summoning the strength to consent to be tested was probably the hardest part for him.  Plus, Sam had no way of knowing whether other clinics in Nebraska would be any more sensitive than what he’d seen from the staff here.

By the time Dean and Charlie arrived, Sam was glad for the company, sick of worrying over how he might have handled the situation differently.  Dean immediately stressed him out further by demanding details and asking continually about how Cas was handling everything.   

Convinced that Cas would want his company, Dean even tried to sweet talk the woman at the front desk into letting him go back.  He was told, in no uncertain terms, that Castiel was an adult patient and that Dean wouldn’t be permitted in unless he was explicitly asked for. 

They waited together, Dean grumbling on and off about stupid policies until Charlie interrupted to inform him that it was actually a pretty great rule and protected Castiel’s privacy even if he didn’t like it at the moment. 

The buzzing fluorescent lighting was starting to give Sam a headache and he considered vacating his uncomfortable seat to go stand outside for a bit, but he’d promised Cas he’d stay and even with Charlie and Dean around, he didn’t want to break it. 

The process was taking longer than Sam imagined it would, even with time added for the staff being slow and hesitance on Castiel’s part.  Still he wasn’t expecting it when the same nurse from earlier, reappeared and asked to speak with him.  She’d only just introduced herself as Caitlyn, when Dean butt into the conversation.

“What’s going on?  Is Cas okay?”

“She’s trying to give me an update, Dean, chill,” Sam said, aggravated that Dean wasn’t even trying to be professional.

“Who are you?  Another friend?”

“I’m his damn brother,” Dean answered and Sam wondered if he was talking about him or Cas, but Caitlyn was unimpressed with this information.  Though she didn’t ask Dean to step aside, she did kind of ignore him, choosing to address Sam instead.

“I don’t know if you’re aware of some the injuries your friend has.  One of the doctors felt concerned that based on his behavior and what,” she glanced down at her clipboard, “Castiel told her that he should file a police report, but he seemed uncertain about whether that’s been done.  Initially, he said no, but then changed his answer to yes.  Then he said you work with the police?”

Sam nodded.  He should have planned this better.  He had no ID on him with the name Sam, just a few matching the names on his stolen credit cards and a bunch of fake badges out in the car.  If he had known Cas was going to go through with the tests today, he would’ve gone over a cover story with him.

“That’s right, I do.  Professionally, I’ve consulted with the Wichita Police.  Naturally, a police report was filed with them over a week ago.  Castiel was so shaken up.  It’s something he tries to forget.  And he might have been confused about if you meant filing in this state as well as Kansas.”

“So, presumably he was at the hospital then?  And they didn’t test him for STDs?” 

That did sound suspicious.

“They wanted to, but he refused.  It was too difficult for him, after everything that happened, but his therapist insisted that he be released with the understanding that it still needed to be done once he felt up to it.”

Caitlyn didn’t look entirely convinced and Sam was preparing additional arguments when Dean put in his two cents.

“Look, we have to come back to get the results of the tests, right?  So, once we get Cas home we’ll give you whatever you need.  I can get the number of his therapist and Sam can request a copy of the police report, if that’s necessary.  If you’re gonna ruin his day further by dragging him through another traumatic police interview, then call them now.  Otherwise, if he’s done, just let us take him home.  We’ll sign whatever you want.”

Dean’s risky move paid off and Caitlyn left them, returning a few minutes later with Cas in tow. 

Surprisingly, he looked more upset than he’d been on his way into the office.  He’d pulled up his hood, and was hunching his shoulders, attempting to make his nearly six-foot frame appear smaller, but Sam could still see his red-rimmed eyes and the slight tremor in his hands when he moved them from his pockets to cross his arms. 

After mutely acknowledging Dean and Charlie, Cas continued avoiding eye contact, not speaking. 

Sam hung back to schedule a follow-up appointment while the others made their way out, flanking Cas on either side. 

When he walked up to the Impala a few minutes later, Dean was the only one around, leaning bodily against it and looking as stressed as Sam felt.

“They left,” he said without preamble.  “Cas wasn’t really talking, but he asked if he could go back to the bunker.  He saw me handing keys over to Charlie and decided he wanted to ride with her.” 

Dean shrugged like he didn’t care, but Sam knew he did.

“He’s just upset, Dean.  Probably didn’t want to see me after the crappy morning I put him through.”

“Nah, I offered to go with them and he didn’t seem interested.  It’s not just you he doesn’t want to sit with,” Dean said, voice hollow with false amusement.

“Just give him some time.  All this stuff freaked him out.  He’s not mad at you,” Sam offered as they climbed into the car and Dean started the engine. 

The drive home was quiet, Sam barely noticed the music Dean was playing, too absorbed in thought worrying about Cas.  Sam wished he was the one at the wheel, thinking driving would be a good distraction.  He couldn’t stop imagining all the invasive questions Cas must have had to answer. 

Number of sexual partners.  The frequency and type of encounters.  Whether he used protection.  Cas had been so dejected earlier just admitting the lack of condoms and internalizing the blame.  It was barely a stretch to assume that other questions and comments about his abuse would make him feel just as guilty. 

“Have you talked with Cas about any of the stuff he went through?”

Dean glanced at Sam and then back at the road, considering for a minute before he shook his head no.

“Not really.  He, uh, opened up a bit after his shower.  Called himself ‘filthy.’ Later he showed me that damn brand on the back of his neck,” Dean grit out.

“I saw that today when he had his hood off.”

“Sick sons of bitches.”

No argument there.

They were nearly home when Dean cleared his throat and Sam seriously wondered if he had fallen asleep and started dreaming because Dean was thanking him

“Thanks for taking him, Sam.  I know you didn’t mean for it to happen today, but Cas needed to go and I know you did your best to handle a shitty situation.”

“You’re not the only one who cares about him, Dean.”

“Don’t I know it.  Good thing too.  He’d be screwed if he only had me.”

Sam could relate to that.  The thought of being the only one around to try and help Cas was daunting.  Hopefully their little team could handle it together.  Cas deserved all the help and healing he could get.

Five miles out, the road curved and Sam spotted it.  An unwanted couch someone had left out for the garbage collectors.  He’d been keeping an eye out for one during his early morning runs.

“Look, Dean.  Pull over.”

As they approached the lumpy couch, Dean slowed down, stopping next to it on the side of the road.

“You wanna put that ass ugly blue and pink striped couch on the roof of my car?”

“I’d call it a purple plaid,” Sam said, getting out of the car.  Dean groaned as he put it in park to follow him. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another longer chapter. I hope it was worth the wait! That damn election threw me for days, I couldn't manage to write. Everything was just so terrible. I think that's where the sucky nurse at the clinic came from. So, sorry if you're from Nebraska, but evidently there's a good chance some homophobic people live and work there, like lots of other states. :'( Like my state, which often goes blue, but somehow swung red. Ugh, so off topic. 
> 
> Anyway, STD testing is a good thing. 
> 
> No Supernatural this week because it's Thanksgiving on Thursday in the United States. I wanted to get this posted so people would have something Supernatural to enjoy. Enjoy the holiday and stay safe everyone!! 
> 
> Thank you all so much for the support! It continues to blow me away.


	18. Chapter 18

For the third time in as many days Castiel used up all the hot water scrubbing his skin raw in the shower.

He hated the idea that he was damaged with more than physical marks.  The thought that he was likely contaminated with diseases made his skin crawl and his stomach turn.  He wanted it off.  Wanted no part of himself to be connected to that basement, tainted by scorching skin and heavy, sweaty flesh.

He had thought the worst part of getting tested would be the examination and while it had been truly terrible, the questions—and having to answer them—were worse.  He hadn’t been prepared for it. 

The doctor had wanted to test him for ‘everything’ and warned that he had a suspicious looking sore.  It was potentially contagious, but located where Castiel couldn’t even see it.

Nothing could get him clean if the filth was part of him, the diseases coursing through his insides.

Showering was a superficial solution.

The hot water left his skin splotchy pink and eventually ran out.

Scrubbing only tore open slowly healing cuts, like the two on his thigh, currently spotting through his pants.  It was hard to notice against the dark fabric, but the stain slowly grew.

Castiel pulled at the cotton, unsticking it and rotating his knee.

“Dude, it’s hard enough drawing over all these ridges.  You’ve got to hold still if you want this to look like a Hobbit and not just a cute kid in fuzzy slippers,” Charlie said from further down the bed where she was sitting with his foot in her lap.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just be still.”  Charlie switched out her green marker for a brown one and leaned closer to his cast.

The drawing was her idea and Castiel wasn’t entirely certain he’d be able to appreciate it since the figure was upside down from his view, but saying yes to something that made Charlie smile was an easy decision.  She’d always been so kind to him and Castiel didn’t know how to thank her.

Seeing her and Dean when he had walked out of the doctor’s office had surprised him, but Castiel had been endlessly grateful when Charlie agreed that he could ride with her.  The last thing he needed was to appear weak in front of the Winchesters and he’d barely been holding it together.

On the ride home, Charlie hadn’t even pressed him to talk.  After a couple deflected attempts at asking how he was, she accepted his silence, but made sure to offer to listen if he changed his mind.  Castiel didn’t think he would’ve been capable of stringing together enough words to explain how he felt.

No one had asked him about the sex before that day.

Sam had told him to be honest, but sitting alone with a stranger and vocalizing what he’d done had been far worse than he’d imagined.  Initially, it took him several tries to form simple responses.

The nurse had told him, in a bored tone, that she’d heard everything before.  That nothing he could say would shock her, but Castiel quickly realized that wasn’t true.

At first, she was unflappable as he tried to say as little as possible, but her clipped questions kept coming.  The droning hum in his ears made Castiel feel even more detached as he matched her monotonous tone and numbly confessed.

The more he said, the more questions she asked.

“Tell me about your last sexual encounter.”

“A man choked me and fucked me.”

“He penetrated you anally?  Okay.  Did he use protection?”

“I don’t, I don’t know.”

“Do you know anything about your partner’s sexual history?”

“I know he pays for sex.”

“Was this the first time he paid you for sex?”

“He didn’t—I wasn’t paid, someone else was.  He paid for me.”

“But it was consensual?”

“I didn’t consent.”

Some of the questions he hadn’t known the answers to and the nurse grew frustrated with him, an angry edge seeping into her voice.

When Castiel admitted that he had no idea how many sexual partners he’d had in the last month, because he was often blindfolded and occasionally drugged, the nurse changed her tone and her wording.  She began saying things like ‘victim’ and ‘sexual assault’ and ‘rape’ and Castiel supposed that was somewhat more accurate, but he hated hearing her say it in relation to him.

The spot on his pants blurred and Castiel snapped his gaze up and away, blinking his vision clear.

“Does the bunker have laundry facilities?”

He didn’t want the blood to stain.

“Yeah,” Charlie answered without looking up, “But hasn’t Dean been washing your stuff?”

Castiel hung his head.  Unbeknownst to him, Dean had been.

“I thought I could learn.  Will you show me where it is?”

“Sure, but honestly?  Laundry sucks.  I’d milk the free service for a while.  At least until your ribs are feeling better, maybe wait till the cast comes off.”

It’d be too late by then.  If he wanted to be able to stay, he needed to make himself useful long before that.

“So, you’d teach me?”

“Absolutely.  I mean, it’s not the sort of thing you need to be worried about, but if it’s motivation enough to leave your room then I’ll back you up,” Charlie said with a smile as she finished her artwork with a final flourish.

He had been hiding.

After the doctor, Castiel had quarantined himself in his room except for showers.  When he’d stopped going to the kitchen for meals, Sam and Dean brought the food to him, but sometimes he pretended to be asleep.  The thought of eating made him queasy and he didn’t want to talk.

Staying in bed was easier than leaving his room and sitting around the table, pretending to be fine when it was a struggle just to focus on what was being said.  And he _was_ still frequently tired.  He’d been having nightmares more often and couldn’t fall back asleep easily.

To make matters worse, his jacket— _Dean’s jacket_ —was smelling less and less like Dean. Feeling foolish, Castiel plucked at the collar and sniffed uselessly.  The subtle scent was gone.  He had ruined the best part of the jacket and couldn’t even give it back to Dean.  He couldn’t risk Dean catching what he had.

Castiel jumped, startled by sharp knocking on the door frame.

“Hey guys.”

“Kevin, check out my Bilbo Baggins!”

Kevin entered the room, stopping next to Charlie and peering down to inspect her work.

“That’s pretty good.  It’s cute.”

“You have to draw one too.  Cas needs artwork from all of us,” Charlie said, extracting his foot from her lap and motioning at Kevin to take her place.

Kevin mumbled something Castiel couldn’t hear as Charlie dragged the desk chair closer to the bed.  She sat down, looking between the two of them.  Kevin had walked in holding a slim book and was rotating it in his hands, still standing.

“He didn’t hear you.”

Castiel said, “What?” at the same time Kevin said, “Oh.”

“I said, is it all right if I sit? Here?”  Kevin gestured to the spot on the bed Charlie had vacated and Castiel nodded, sliding his leg over to make more room.

“What’s with the book? You spend too much time slaving away in the library as it is,” Charlie said, taking it from Kevin and thumbing through the pages.  “This one’s blank?”

“Yeah, I brought it for Cas.”  Kevin lifted one shoulder in a shrug as he addressed him.  “Figured you might want to write stuff down.  Sometimes it helps when you’re stressed.”

Charlie passed the book over and Castiel flipped it open as well.  The pages crinkled lightly, an old journal, probably a spare the Men of Letters hadn’t gotten around to filling yet.

He couldn’t imagine what he would write, but Castiel thanked Kevin anyway.

“Sure, and I know some breathing techniques I could go over with you.  Helped me stay sane when I was losing it studying for AP exams.”

“Oh, that’s a great idea.  The three of us can try it together.  But first,” Charlie pressed one of the markers into Kevin’s hand, “make with the art, Banksy.”

Castiel listened to Kevin’s half-hearted protestations that he wasn’t skilled at drawing and Charlie’s cajoling, until Kevin gave in and, after a nod of approval from Castiel, began his own cartoonish figure.

He and Charlie were both titling their heads at what Kevin had drawn so far, since he wanted them to guess what it was.  From his perspective, all Castiel could be certain of was it was another humanoid with pointy ears, so he left the guessing to Charlie.

“A leprechaun.”

“No.”

“A gnome.”

“No.”

“A dwarf.”

“Dwarves have beards.”

“ _I_ know that. I didn’t know if _you_ knew that,” Charlie said, smiling at Castiel while Kevin continued drawing.  Even _he_ knew that about dwarves.  “Okay an elf, then?”

“Yes, but what kind of elf?”  Kevin tapped his marker at the figure’s colorful feet.

Charlie made a face.  “I know it’s not Link with boots like that.”

“They’re not boots,” Kevin sighed, “They’re socks.”

“Oh.  Ohhhh!  It’s Dobby.  House-elf.”

They were agreeing and laughing about Kevin’s drawing, but Castiel no longer knew what they were talking about and his attention drifted to that damn spot again.  It didn’t seem to be growing any larger.

“Cas doesn’t even know Dobby.”

“Well then, read him Harry Potter next.  I don’t know these things.  I was just sticking to your diminutive fantasy character theme,” Kevin said, scooching away from Castiel’s leg and rearranging himself on the edge of the bed.

Castiel had no objections to Charlie reading him something else after The Hobbit, but he felt guilty monopolizing her time.

“Did you tell Cas about the laptop you ordered for him?”

Charlie half frowned at Kevin’s question.

“It was kind of a surprise, but, I guess, now is as good a time as any,” she said while Kevin mouthed an apology. “I got you a computer, Cas.  All of us have one and I thought you should have one too.  It might be at the post office tomorrow or the next day.  I’ll have to check the tracking.”  Charlie produced her phone, touching the screen to get into her email.

Castiel’s stomach twisted at this new information.  Computers were expensive.  He didn’t deserve one.

“I can just share with one of you if I need to.  I don’t really know how to use them.  A computer would be wasted on me.”

“Shush.  You’re getting one.  They’re easy to use and I’ll teach you what you need to know. There are some websites that I think could really help you, message boards and chat rooms that offer specific kinds of support.  You’ll see,” Charlie assured him.

Castiel felt a flicker of hope.  He hadn’t expected such an opportunity.  It was almost too good to be true.  He’d heard both Winchesters praise Charlie for her computer skills and now she was offering to pass that knowledge along to him.  If he could learn to do what she did, then perhaps he’d be useful enough to keep around.

“You’d teach me?”

“Sure.”

“Can you teach me hacking? How to do it like you?”

Kevin laughed and they both looked at him, Charlie with rare annoyance.

“Oh, sorry.  It’s just that, well, Charlie is _beyond_ amazing when it comes to computers.  I mean, what do you even know about them, Cas?”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Castiel tried not to be upset that Kevin found the idea of him being helpful laughable.  He was right.  Castiel knew very little about practical computer use, but had hoped he could learn.

“Not much at all.”  Castiel sighed.  “It was stupid. I’ll think of something else.”

“That’s not what he meant,” Charlie said, smacking Kevin in the arm and glaring at him as he rubbed it.  “Right, Kevin?”

“Right, right.  I meant that Charlie has been doing this stuff for years and she’s got a real talent for it.  It’d be hard for anyone to reach her skill level, let alone a beginner.”

That was it, then.

Hacking had been the best option so far.  Sam’s suggestion of doing laundry and his own idea of cooking burgers and baking pies wouldn’t be enough.  Castiel knew he wasn’t ready to truly help on a hunt and Dean would never take him along with a broken ankle.  Sam had already rejected his offers to help research a case.

“I don’t have years,” Castiel said, mainly to himself, unable to imagine a single reason Dean would let him stay.  “I don’t have anything.”

The only skill he’d learned since becoming human was how to suck cock, but Dean didn’t let the people he had sex with live with him.  Still, even considering letting Dean use him like that revolted Castiel, making his stomach lurch unpleasantly.  He was glad he’d skipped lunch.

Kevin got up from the bed, uncertainly moving to stand behind the empty chair Charlie had just gotten out of.  She quickly joined Castiel, sitting much closer than Kevin had been.

“What are you talking about, Cas?  Do you feel okay?  You just got all pale.”

“I don’t know what else to learn.  I don’t have any skills.  I thought hacking could work, but I don’t have time.  I only have weeks before my ankle heals.  Weeks.  How can I possibly learn something useful in weeks?”

“Useful?”  Charlie echoed and Castiel felt agitated that he couldn’t even explain himself properly.

“Something important.  Sam and Dean are exemplary hunters.  They need assets.  Kevin is a prophet.  You’re exceptionally gifted with computers.  I’m nothing.  I’m expendable.  I have no skills to offer, but I can’t, I can’t leave again, it’s—,”

“No, no, no, no, no.  No, Cas.  No one is making you leave and you’re not,” Charlie frowned deeply, “expendable.  Why would you think that?”

Castiel didn’t know why he was babbling to Charlie, but his bed was soft and warm underneath him and he didn’t want to sleep on the street again, unable to tell the kind strangers from the cruel.

“Without my powers, I have nothing to offer.  When I fell, they didn’t want me.  Dean didn’t want me.  I thought I could learn something and come back, but I’ve learned nothing.”

“I don’t understand, Cas.  Of course, Sam and Dean want you around—”

“They _don’t_ ,” Castiel said and uttering the words aloud was like wrenching off bits of his rotten insides and spitting them to the floor.  “Dean told me to leave. I had only just gotten here.”

“Wait, what?  When did all this happen?”

“After the reaper killed me.”

Flabbergasted, Charlie gaped at him, trying to catch up. The floor creaked as Kevin took a tentative step back towards the door.

“I’m going to give you two a minute,” he said awkwardly.  “Check and see if Sam and Dean are back yet.”

Castiel took a deep breath, trying to calm his hammering heart while Kevin left and Charlie shook her head at the empty doorway.  Thinking about leaving was making him feel sick again and talking about it was ruining things.  He didn’t mean to upset Charlie or Kevin.

Pulling in his stretched-out legs, Castiel’s fingers brushed over the small spot of stiffening fabric. The drying stain on his pants silently mocked him and he rubbed ineffectively at it, but it wasn’t going to come out without soap and water.  It might not come out at all.

The possibility that his pants were unsalvageable loomed over him as the annoying buzzing in his ears turned thunderous.  Castiel screwed his eyes shut and pressed the heels of his hands hard against them, willing the noise to stop.  He wasn’t going to be able to think of any solutions if he couldn’t even concentrate.

Gently revolving blips appeared in the darkness of his eyelids, the faintest light, blinking bright in pitch black as tiny moving shapes grew and shrank in size, morphing from one indistinct form to another.  All of the evolving patterns floated together, bleeding into the same taunting mark spoiling his pants.  The filth was on him— _in him_ —turning every last bit of him foul.

Castiel started at the touch to his elbow, quickly lowering his hands to reveal a concerned Charlie leaning close to him.

“Cas?”  Her voice sounded tiny and far away and he tried to focus on it over the noise in his head.  “Try to calm down.”

Nodding, Castiel sucked in a shaky breath, trying to push down the pulsing truths churning in his gut.

Dean didn’t want him.  

He was spoiled inside and out.

“We should talk about what got you so upset,” Charlie said and Castiel was so full of conflicting desires to speak and remain silent, influenced by both bitter resentment and crushing guilt, that he couldn’t force himself to respond.

Months as a human and he still couldn’t navigate the tremendous parade of accompanying emotions without getting overwhelmed.

He was just thinking that he wouldn’t possibly know where to begin when Charlie plucked the thought right from his head.

“Why don’t you start by telling me what happened after you fell to earth?”

“Yes,” Castiel heard himself saying.

He could tell Charlie about that.

 

 

 

 

Dean parked the Impala in front of the bunker, thinking that maybe Cas might take a ride with him later, even though he had declined to go with him and Sam on their little errand.  Dean was wishing he had declined himself.  Sam had whined about the music and complained about Dean having to stop in more than one automotive store, so Dean had bitched right back and purposefully avoided the specific store Sam wanted to go to.   

Dean knew it could be chalked up to being a little stir crazy without a hunt to occupy them, but that was why he’d decided to go out in the first place.  When he had driven Charlie’s car up to Hastings a couple days ago, he couldn’t help but notice a squealing sound from the engine when he started it up.  It seemed like a good little project to pass the time.

Some minor investigating had him out purchasing parts to replace the drive belt and Sam had come with.  His brother was only in it for the vegetables though and so Dean had been forced to stop at a fresh produce store.  It was _literally_ all the place had.  Fruit, nuts, plants, and more veggies than Dean knew existed.

Collecting their separate bags, they exited the car and trudged down the stairs in relative silence.  Dean had only taken a few steps into the map room when Charlie strode towards him with enough fury in her face that for the briefest of moments he thought she might be possessed.

“Charlie?  What’s wrong?”

“Dean Winchester, you colossal ass!”  Charlie shoved at him with both hands and for someone in a five-and-a-half-foot package, Dean was impressed that she summoned enough strength to nearly knock him off balance.

“Ow.  The hell did I do?”

“You tell me.  I don’t know for sure,” Charlie huffed, crossing her arms and cementing herself in front of him.  “But I got Cas’s side of the story and it sounded pretty bleak.  He said when he became human you brought him back to the bunker only to kick him out right away?!  Is it true? Is that what happened?”

“Well, yeah,” Dean said, rubbing at his chest and dropping his bag onto the table, “but it was more complicated than that.”

Across the room, Kevin appeared at the entrance to the library and leaned against the wall separating the two rooms, watching the interrogation.

“Why?  Why would you do that to Cas?  It doesn’t make any sense.”

Dean shuffled uncomfortably, glancing back at Sam, whose sour mood was still in place.  He couldn’t expect any help there, not when Sam’s face clearly said, _this was your mess, not mine._ Like he was such a bad guy for saving his damn life.

“I, uh, I didn’t want to.  It was this whole big thing.  Sam was dying and I had to let an angel possess him.  Winged dick wasn’t who I thought he was, he didn’t want Cas hanging around—”

“Well, it sounds like something you maybe should’ve explained to Cas, because he thinks—”

“Oh my god, Dean!”  Sam completely cut Charlie off, taking two steps around Dean and joining her in glaring at him.  “You _never_ told Cas?  Are you serious?  I thought you’d have told him about all that stuff right away.  What the hell have you been doing all this time you were supposed to be talking with him?”

“Eating bon-bons, Sam.  Whadaya think?” Dean tried to plaster on an angry expression, feeling defensive at being attacked as soon as he walked in the door.  He knew he screwed up with Gadreel and Cas, but that didn’t mean they all had to gang up on him for it.

“I know I should’ve told Cas, okay, but it just hasn’t come up.  There were so many other things to be said and I didn’t want to remind him what an asshole I was.”

“Dean.  That story makes you _less_ of an asshole,” Sam said, forming the words slowly so Dean could keep up.  “I can’t believe you haven’t told him.”

“It may interest you to know,” Charlie chimed in, “that Cas has his own reasoning worked out about why you booted him to the curb and it isn’t pretty.”

Dean didn’t like the sound of that.

“What did he say?”

“Well, for starters, he thinks you’re kicking him out again as soon as he’s healthy enough.”

“What!? No! No, I’ve told him he’s staying,” Dean said, while Sam threw his arms up in exasperation, the plastic bag of produce spinning wildly.

“Well, that’s just great, Dean.”

“Cas must not have believed you, then,” Charlie continued, “because I got the impression he’s terrified about it.  He didn’t even want to tell me any of this, thinking it’d get back to you and you’d make him leave sooner.  But the way he sees it?  He thinks you don’t want anything to do with him, because he’s no longer an angel.  Evidently, not having powers makes him useless to you.  And expendable.  And that’s why you threw him out.  His words.”

Dean had died more than anyone else he knew and at that moment it felt like his heart had stuttered to a stop once again.

Cas _couldn’t_ think that.

Not when it had been months ago that Dean had unceremoniously told him to leave.  For Cas to believe that for even a minute was unacceptable.  Especially when it was the complete opposite of the truth.

Dean felt eerily empty as scenes from those awful videos played in his head.  It was horrible enough on its own, but for Cas to already think he was useless going into it.  To think he was expendable—that Dean didn’t want him…

“I have to go talk to him,” Dean said, breaking the silence and stepping away from Sam and Charlie.

“Wait, one more thing.” Dean stopped at Charlie’s voice, but only turned his head instead of facing them again.

“Before you go groveling to Cas, I have to say, that it should not have taken over a week for the four of us to realize this.  We are the only help Cas has right now and I cannot be the only person having real conversations with him.  I barely know him.  I don’t even know what he was like before.  Unless you count the Supernatural books, but I know you guys hate them—”

“So much,” Sam agreed, curling one hand into a fist.

“Right.  So, you guys can’t hide from the difficult conversations.  I already yelled at Kevin for bailing on me when Cas got upset earlier.  He apologized,” Charlie added.

Kevin pushed himself away from the wall, looking sulky.

“I’m a guy, I thought he’d be better off with just you.”

Charlie pointed her finger emphatically at him.

“Yes, that!  That line of thinking needs to stop.  None of you are the bastards who raped him. You’re his friends.  So stop using what's in your pants as an excuse to keep Cas at arm’s length.  In case you forgot, he was raped by at least two women too.  And one of them had red hair.”  Charlie waved a hand back at herself, challenging any of them to object.  “Now pull your heads out of your asses and at least try.  I can’t be the only one Cas opens up to.  He needs you guys.”

Dean didn’t need any further convincing and was encouraged to hear Sam and Kevin simultaneously voice their agreement.  After clearing his throat, Dean made it unanimous.

“You’re absolutely right, Charlie.  Good work, but I’ve got to go talk to Cas.”

“No one’s stopping you now.”  Charlie shoed him away and Dean made quick work of the distance to Cas’s room.

The door was ajar and Dean peered in, eyes falling immediately on Cas lying on his side in bed.  He had one arm tucked under his head and was wearing the headphones Charlie had lent him.  Knocking on the door got no response, so Dean let himself in, clicking it shut behind him.

Everyone already knew he was in here to apologize, but with a mistake this large they could use some privacy.

Cas had his eyes closed, but he was probably still awake given the tense way his eyebrows were drawn together.  That and the fact he was grasping his jacket collar tightly between three good fingers.

Dean weakly said his name, immediately correcting the whisper and trying again more loudly.  Cas still didn’t hear him and Dean spent several long seconds starring at him resting on top of the sheets.  Cas looked tired, but nearly peaceful and Dean hated himself for the tiny crease of worry between his eyes.  Dean frowned at a full mug of tea and a barely touched plate of toast sitting forgotten on the bedside table. 

Ever since Cas’s impromptu STD testing, Dean had been giving him a wide berth.  He wasn’t ignoring Cas or anything, but he didn’t want to force his company on Cas after he’d chosen to ride home with Charlie.  Now he was rethinking that logic.  Cas had never actually _said_ he didn’t want to talk to him.

Stepping closer, Dean said his name a third time and darted a hand out to tap his shoulder.

Castiel’s eyes flew open as he jerked way from where Dean had touched him, twisting partly onto his back before he slowed.

“Hey, it’s okay, Cas.  It’s just me.”

When he was startled, Cas was all quick breaths and wide eyes as he scrambled to make sense of a situation.  It was the same this time and after fixating on Dean above him and flitting a gaze to the door and back, Dean expected him to calm down, but Cas just traded confusion for worry, closing his parted lips and pressing them firmly together.

Grovel had been a perfect choice of words on Charlie’s part.

Dean sank to his knees beside the bed while Cas tilted back onto his side, following his every move.

“Cas.  Take them off.”  Dean gestured at his own ears and waited for Cas to realize he was still wearing headphones.  Yanking them off left his hair a bit wilder than usual.

“Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

“I don’t want you to leave.”

Cas squinted at him, tilting his head and etching his frown deeper.  “Charlie told you.”

“Yeah.  Yeah, she told me, Cas.  I’m glad she did.”  Dean sat back on his heels so they were more level.  “I really messed up, man.  Charlie said you think I want you to leave, but that’s so far from the truth.  I want you to stay.  I always did.  I, I… ”

Dean tripped over his words as all the important points tumbled and collided together in their eagerness to leave his mouth.  He had to make Cas understand and the way he was suddenly preoccupied with rubbing his wrist made Dean think he didn’t believe a word of it.

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I’m not just saying it,” Dean sighed and smoothed his palm down his face.  He had to slow down and start at the beginning.  “Cas, do you know an angel, Gadreel?”

If the name meant anything to Cas, his steady expression didn’t give it away.  Dean waited on a response, almost continuing without one after the extended silence, but then Cas wet his lips and spoke carefully.

“I know of him.  He was the sentry who allowed Lucifer into the garden.  He’s been imprisoned since the dawn of time.”

“So, you’re familiar.  Good.  Here’s the thing—”

“Dean.  I-I’ve failed as an angel, and ruined Heaven, but please.  Please don’t compare me to Gadreel.  He’s responsible for the corruption of man.  Demons, Hell—it was all his fault.  God left because of him. The archangels, the apocalypse—”

“No!  No, Cas,” Dean gripped the edge of the mattress, squeezing the material fiercely.  “That’s not, not even remotely close to where I was going with that.  Just listen a minute.  Do you remember when you called me, right after you fell?  And I told you Sam was in bad shape, asked you about the angel Ezekiel?”

“Yes?”

“Well, it wasn’t really Ezekiel.  It was Gadreel.  He lied about who he was, convinced me Sam could only be healed from the inside, and I tricked Sam into saying yes.  I let Gadreel possess him to save his life.  I was so stupid, but I didn’t have any other choice.”

“Sam was possessed by an angel?  By Gadreel?”

“Yeah, and he didn’t even know it.”

Castiel shook his head, and Dean thought he was about to tell him off for being an idiot.

“I was the one who said you could trust Ezekiel.  I never should have vouched for him.”

“Stop, Cas.  Stop blaming yourself.  You had no way of knowing it wasn’t really him.  This is all on me, man.  I screwed up big time, but we found out the truth eventually and Gadreel’s long gone now.  But, Cas?”

Dean ducked his head, angling to catch Castiel’s downcast eyes.

“He’s the reason I told you to leave the bunker.  Gadreel was worried about you blowing his cover or something, said if you stuck around he’d leave.  But I needed him to heal Sam and so I, I told you to go.”

Dean waited for the anger.  Braced himself for the condemnation he so deserved for turning his friend away during what was arguably his greatest time of need.  Seconds ticked by, but there was no sharp fury hardening Castiel’s expression, no twisted disgust stealing across his face.   When he met Dean’s gaze again, his wide blue eyes weren’t at all judgmental.

“And Sam?  He’s all right?”

“He’s fine, Cas.  Would you think about yourself for one second?  This is about you and me and how I screwed up.  I never should have made you leave like that and I’m just…” Dean shut his eyes, shaking his head at the inadequate words.  “I’m so sorry.  I’m sorry I told you to go.  I never wanted you to leave.”

It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

“Did you, um, did you really want me to stay?”

“More than anything,” Dean slid his hand the short distance across the sheets so that his knuckles brushed along Castiel’s fidgeting fingers.

“But... you told me to leave, because doing so would save Sam’s life?”

“Yeah.”

Cas turned his hand palm up, inching the tips of his fingers underneath Dean’s.  The offer was unexpected and Dean stared dumbly at their touching hands before shifting his completely, pressing their palms together and squeezing.

“This is what makes you good, Dean.  Your selflessness.”

“It makes me an idiot, Cas.  I saved Sam, but you got screwed in the process.  I should have found a better way.  Put you up in a motel or sent you to stay with Jody or Garth or _something._ ”

The options were so obvious in retrospect.

Dean’s knees were starting to ache from kneeling on the hard floor, but he didn’t deserve to get up yet.

“I know I should have told you all this sooner, Cas, but I thought you’d hate me.  You should.  Everything is my fault.  I just, I feel like you should take a swing at me or something.  Aren’t you even mad?”

Cas went very still, eyes trained on his hand in Dean’s for long enough that Dean began to withdraw it, but Castiel wasn’t letting him go easily.  It was all the encouragement Dean needed to bring his other hand forward and sandwich Cas’s between them both.

“I was mad at you, in the beginning,” Cas started slowly.  “Things were bad on my own, Dean, but I was trying.  I didn’t call you when I left, because I was angry with you and mad at myself.  I was upset that you didn’t want me without my powers.”

Dean swallowed his objections, not wanting to interrupt Cas now that he was finally talking.   He continued cradling his hand instead, moving his thumb in a circular pattern over his wrist. 

“Living as a human was difficult enough, but then… with them… I was even angrier.  And I,” Cas sighed.  “I missed you.  I regretted not calling when I had the chance.  All I wanted was to see you again, but I didn’t know if I would.   And then I was angry at myself for missing you, since you didn’t want me.”

“Never, Cas.”  Dean couldn’t stand to hear Cas say it again.  “I’ll never not want you.  You’re worth so much more than your powers.  You’re the best friend I’ve ever had and I treated you like crap.”

Bowing his head, Dean slid his elbows onto the bed, lifting their clasped hands until they touched his forehead.  Even though Cas could no longer hear prayers, Dean wanted him to get this one.

“Cas, I walked in here to apologize to you and it’s no mistake that I’m on my knees next to your bed, praying that you’ll forgive me.  I don’t deserve it, but I want to make it up to you.  I need to.  For kicking you out, for every time one of those fuckers hurt you, for making you think you weren’t wanted, for taking way too long to talk to you about all this stuff.”

“Does that mean that, maybe, you’d consider letting me stay?  I’m sure I could learn something useful.”

Dean blinked at Cas.  He really wasn’t getting it.

“You’re not hearing me, Cas.  I want you to stay.  I always did.  Sam and I, we both care about you.  The time travelling, the Jedi mind tricks, the healing ET touch, it was cool and helpful sometimes, but none of that is as important as you.”

Cas sighed out an exhale and took a deep breath like he’d been waiting for it all day.

“Thank you, Dean.  I very much want to stay.”

The plain honesty and hint of hesitance over an issue that had been nonexistent to Dean less than an hour ago, had him acting instead of thinking.  He still had Cas’s hand enclosed in his and Dean strengthened his grip, pressing the two uninjured knuckles briefly to his lips. 

It couldn’t even be called a kiss, not really, but fortunately Cas didn’t ask him to explain his actions.  He merely observed, questioning without saying a word as his eyes looked between their still united hands and Dean’s lips. 

Once again Dean failed to get permission, but it was such a tiny gesture he thought Cas might be able to overlook it.  He’d been the one to instigate the hand holding after all.  Not that Dean was complaining.  Part of him, flushed with warmth and affection for the man in front of him, never wanted to let go. 

“We want you here, Cas.  And, yeah, the bunker’s not the greatest place to live, but it’s got good potential.  It’s not a typical home, but it, uh, kind of feels more like one with you here.” 

It was sappy as shit, but Dean meant it.  He’d say just about anything if it’d erase the shades of doubt in Castiel’s eyes.

His knees started to protest his prolonged position and Dean shifted weight to his leg that wasn’t going all tingly.  The rearrangement forced him to steal a hand away momentarily to help him balance.  Good thing Sam wasn’t around or he’d be lecturing Dean about stretching and flexibility and well on his way to rolling out a yoga mat and buying them a damn Pilates DVD.     

As soon as Dean settled his hand over Cas’s again, it was yanked away.  Cas pushed himself swiftly into a sitting position, propped up on one arm and Dean gaped up at him. 

“Dean!  You, you shouldn’t have.  I’m not—  I didn’t think.  I’m sorry!”

“What, Cas?  What’s wrong?”

Cas pressed a hand over his face, shaking his head and mumbling something low and rough that Dean couldn’t make out, but he thought he heard his name mixed in.

“Talk to me, Cas.”

“You have to wash your hands.”  It came out muffled, but Dean caught it.  The way Castiel’s hand trembled as he lowered it had Dean fumbling to take it, but he pulled away again. 

“My hands, Cas?  I don’t understand.”

“I don’t want you to catch what I have.”

“What, the pneumonia?”

“The STDs, Dean!  And the pneumonia, I guess.  All of it.  I don’t know.  I, I’m not clean.”

Some of the anger Dean expected to hear earlier burst out of Cas, interwoven with his exasperation.  It wasn’t the first time he had talked about being dirty.

“Wait, is that what all the showers have been about, Cas?  You’re not contagious, man.  And even if you were, I wouldn’t care.”

Stifling a groan, Dean struggled to his feet and sat himself right next to Cas on the bed, taking his hand firmly again. 

“We’ve done this before,” Dean said, nodding down to their joined hands and maintaining his hold when Cas tried to twist free.  “When Amelia was fixing you up and then when I cut your hair.  Remember?  I haven’t caught anything.”

Dean didn’t mention the car ride when Cas was unconscious or when they’d shared a bed at the motel.  It was weird to know he had enough hand holding experiences to pick and choose his favorites.  

“You don’t even know if you’ve actually got any STDs yet, but if we find out you do, we’ll deal with it, all right?  Hell, I’m careful with that stuff and even I’ve gotten the clap before.  It’s not the end of the world.  We’ve been there.  And this?  This is small potatoes, Cas.”

Dean brought Cas’s hand to his own cheek to further prove his point.   Now wasn’t the time to worry about what Cas might have gotten from those scumbags.  They’d know for certain soon enough and stressing about it wasn’t going to change anything.  There was no way Dean was letting Cas know that he was already worried enough for the both of them. 

“What’s ‘the clap?’”

Dean could hear the quotation marks in the question and he smiled, the corner of his lips disappearing underneath Castiel’s palm.  He tilted slightly into it before moving both their hands to his lap.

“Gonorrhea.  Totally treatable, but it burns when you take a piss.”     

“Oh.”  Cas shifted on the bed, but didn’t move away from Dean.  “I might have that.”

“Yeah, well, try not to worry about it until we know for sure,” Dean said, not wanting to go over all of Cas’s symptoms since he’d just spend days torturing himself researching potential diagnoses online. 

In the quiet, Dean could faintly make out music and he reached behind them, lifting the forgotten headphones out of the way so he could stop the song Cas had never paused.  If he had heard it playing earlier he would have stopped it then.

“Listen, Cas.  We suck at talking, but we gotta do it.  'Cause I didn’t know you thought I wanted you to leave or that the STDs had you so upset.”

Though he should have seen the freaking signs. 

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I want to.  Especially if it involves me or upsets you.  I want to know.  And I’ll try to be less of a dumbass about stuff like this, but you’ve got to help me.  Call me on it if I’m making you feel like shit, because, I swear, I’m not doing it on purpose.  I just want you to feel better.  I mean, _this_ was good right?  Going over this stuff?”

“Dean, I…”  Cas shook his head and started again.  “For a very long time no one cared what was happening to me.  Mal and Trav and the others, they liked hurting me. They said a lot of people watched them hurt me.  For entertainment.  Just because they enjoyed it,” Cas said, voice going rough.

“It felt like so many people knew and didn’t care.   To hear that you,” Castiel lifted his head, eyes shining as he met Dean’s, “that you do?  It’s everything.”

Dean caved, aching to wrap Cas up in his arms, but having to rein himself in and settle for gripping his elbow, like it was the next pathetic step up after hand holding. 

“Anyone who watches stuff like that is sick, Cas.  I know they probably made it sound like a lot, but most people wouldn’t ever want to watch something like that.”

In the years Dean had known him, Cas had always tried to do the right thing.  Help people, save them, stop the apocalypse from killing billions.  All Cas ever wanted to do was protect people and it always blew up in his face.  Figures that the second he got onto equal footing with humans he’d be betrayed by them.  It was crap like this that made Dean feel like an ineffective light-house.  A beacon lulling the people he cared about into thinking they were safe around him, but he couldn't ever light up all the shadows at once and eventually they ventured too close, crashing into jagged rocks hidden by the darkness that always surrounded him.  

“If that’s true,” Cas said, fiddling with his own hands, “then there’s something I don’t understand. 

“Tell me.”

“You watched them.”

“The videos?  Well, yeah.  I had to.  We were looking for you, Cas.”  Dean hesitated, not liking the way Cas wasn’t looking at him.  “What?  Y-you think I wanted to?”

Crossing his arms, Cas hunched his shoulders, hugging himself and drifting away from Dean’s hand on his bicep. 

“You enjoy pornography.”

Cas wasn’t wrong, but Dean’s mouth hung open at the simply stated fact.  He never pretended to be some stand-up guy, but Dean expected Cas to rank him a bit higher than the scum who got off to that sort of thing.  He blinked stupidly at Castiel before finding his voice and forcing it past the lump in his throat.

“Dammit, Cas, that wasn’t friggin’ porn!  It was torture.  I hated every second of it.”

“It cost money.  You and Sam don’t have much—”

“You were _gone_ , Cas!  As much as I hated watching those nightmares, it was the only way to prove that you were still alive.  I needed that.  What happened to you was all my fault and I couldn’t deal with knowing you were being hurt and not watching.  It damn near tore me apart, but I had to.”

It was Cas’s turn to open his mouth in surprise.  He looked so close to tears that Dean regretted sounding angry, but the accusation had just shoveled more trash onto the heaping garbage pile of guilt Dean was already being crushed by.    

If the way Cas kept parting his lips was anything to go by, he was teetering on the edge of responding and Dean wanted to hear all of it.

“What, Cas?  What aren’t you saying?”

“Mal, he, he said you were his best customer, but… that was a lie?  You didn’t pay to hurt me?

“You really think I’d do that?”

“Dean, just tell me!  Fifteen minutes ago I was certain you didn’t want me here.  I’m trying to believe you.  I want to, but I have doubts and it’s so difficult to, to silence them on my own.”

“Okay!  All right,” Dean said, throwing up a hand to indicate Cas should stop.  He pinched at the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes to curb the impending drops.  Cas really didn’t know. 

“I would _never_ pay someone to hurt you, Cas.  It, uh, it kind of sucks that you would even think that.”

“I’m sorry, Dean, but even after April—the reaper,” Cas amended, “I thought most people were kind, that I could trust them.  That assumption was false.  I’ve been telling myself you and Sam wouldn’t hurt me.  I like to think it’s true, but I can’t trust myself.  I was wrong before and it cost me dearly.”

Clinging to the fact that Cas wanted to believe him, Dean took up his hand again.

“Listen, Cas.  I’ve been telling you the truth and it’s true I watched those videos, but I’ve never seen anything more horrible.  And it’s because they were hurting you, not because you did anything wrong.  I paid for that session right before we rescued you, because I was trying to send you a message that we were coming.  I didn’t want you to give up.  I wanted you to know that I was suffering right along with you.  They weren’t supposed to hurt you.

“If you can’t be certain about anything else, believe this,” Dean said, squeezing Cas’s hand as tightly as he dared.  “Believe me, Cas.  I care about you.  I want you safe and happy.  I want you to stay.  I need you to stay.”

Cas nodded, managing a soft “yes” and looking away as the first tear slid down his cheek.  Dean swiped at it with his thumb, cupping Castiel’s face with his palm.

“Hey, Cas?  You’re gonna be okay, buddy.”

Dean said it for himself as much as Cas, but Cas must have needed to hear it more.  As soon as Dean’s hand drifted to his shoulder, Cas was falling into Dean, grabbing at his shirt and dropping his forehead onto his chest. 

“It’s okay.  I’ve got you,” Dean said, surprised to find himself with an armful of Cas, but not complaining.  He wasn’t sure what Cas wanted, so Dean cautiously wrapped him in his arms, gently rubbing his back once Cas pressed more firmly against him. 

The fluffy bits of Cas’s hair that were standing up brushed under Dean’s nose when he planted a gentle kiss on the top of his head.  It wasn’t something Cas was likely to notice, but Dean couldn’t help himself.  Everything about holding Cas felt perfect.  It meant Cas trusted him, maybe even forgave him.  The only way it could have been better was if Cas were hugging him back. 

Cas was warm, his heat seeping into Dean’s chest and lighting up all the cold, dark corners.  Cas sniffled into Dean’s shirt and, okay, maybe there were two things that could have made the moment better.   Three, if you counted how Cas still felt too small in his arms. 

The embrace only lasted a few brief minutes, before Cas was pushing at Dean’s chest and freeing himself from his grasp.  Dean reluctantly released him, already missing the contact and blaming it on his desire to comfort Cas, to make him understand how important he was.

“I’m sorry, Cas, for everything,” Dean said for good measure as Cas nodded and wiped at his eyes. 

Dean reached for a tissue from the box on the bedside table, his eyes landing on the uneaten toast again and he remembered that Cas had said no to lunch earlier too. 

“You know, Sam and I stopped and got fresh produce.  I made him buy those grapes you like so much.  How about we go have some and you can keep me company while I make burgers?”  Dean offered, rising from the bed and extending a hand to Cas. 

His eating had been frustratingly spotty since the clinic and he hadn’t been to the kitchen at all, so Dean was relieved when Cas let him help him to his feet.

“You hate grapes.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “Every time I try them I always get stuck with the soft ones or else they’re all sour and prune-y.”

“They’re like juicy orbs of jelly,” Cas corrected as they started down the hall, Dean matching his pace.  “And they’re good for you.”

“You know what else is juicy?  Burgers.  Don’t be like Sam, always judging food on vitamin content instead of taste.  I don’t know where I went wrong with him.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with Sam.  Grapes contain vitamin C and potassium, essential nutrients for humans.  You should have some, too.” 

As they approached the kitchen and Cas carefully gripped the wall as he stepped down, Dean decided he could suffer through some fruit if it got Cas to eat more. 

“If grapes are so healthy, how about for every two you eat I’ll eat one?”

Cas agreed with the suggestion and Dean regretted not making it three to one.  If he managed to eat twenty of those suckers Dean would have to force down ten. 

It would be worth it though. 

Making trips between the fridge and counter, Dean pulled out the fruit and ground beef, along with other ingredients he needed.  He was looking for the good cast iron skillet when Cas decided to rinse the grapes on his own and Dean detoured to get him a bowl.

While Dean prepped, Cas stood across from him at the counter and watched, perfunctorily popping grapes into his mouth.  When Dean started looking for the good pan again, he had to explain his refusal to use the stainless-steel one, which led to him demonstrating the best way to shape the beef into patties.  With any luck his boring kitchen explanations might distract Cas from keeping track of how many grapes he ate. 

Once he got the burgers cooking in the skillet which Sam had hidden behind his pointless blender (because yeah, let's pretend that vegetables are more appealing in liquid form) the kitchen started smelling good.  The aroma must have wafted through the bunker, because soon the room was full.  Charlie handed out beers, while Kevin got out the plates, and Sam stole Cas away to wash and shred lettuce while he sliced tomatoes and an onion. 

Dean could overhear Sam making his own apology to Cas as he chopped, explaining that he wanted Cas to stay with them.  It was kind of a brilliant move to do it over the onions in case Cas teared up again, and Dean wondered if it was intentional. 

It wasn’t until they were all sitting down and Cas slid a small cup of grapes across to him that Dean remembered his ill-advised compromise. 

“That’s 16 for you,” Cas said with a hint of amusement in his eyes at Dean’s dismayed face. 

For grapes, they actually tasted pretty damn good. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long overdue chapter with a long overdue conversation. 
> 
> Sorry to make you all wait, but this chapter was really fighting me for some reason. I think it was because of Dean and Cas finally talking and having to address several different issues. I didn't want them to talk in circles for too long, but I wanted it to not be the smoothest conversation because obviously it wouldn't be. I think it came out okay, but it involved a lot of time staring at the computer screen and not writing. It was just really slow for me. 
> 
> Thank you for all your patience!! And for reading. Thank you! You're the best! I'll try not to keep you waiting as long for the next one. Have a beautiful holiday just in case you don't hear from me until the new year! 
> 
> I'm going to go reply to all your comments from last chapter now. I wasn't allowed since this took me so long lol.


	19. Chapter 19

 

_Dean wants me to stay_

Castiel stared at the words in the notebook Kevin gave him. 

He’d wanted something significant to write down and it had been the most important sentence he could think of.  Five simple words Castiel never wanted to forget. 

He’d written it in ink.  Pressed hard enough that each letter left an indent on the following page.

_Dean wants me to stay_

It looked really good. 

The strokes came out a touch unsteady since he had to alter the way he gripped his pen to accommodate his splinted finger, but there was no mistaking the dark lines.  Each letter was clear, intentional.  Permanent. 

Castiel read the sentence again, considering the appeal of writing it in other languages, when he noticed something missing and hastened to correct it. 

_Dean wants me to stay._

Punctuation made it even more final.  The period prevented any stipulations from being added. 

Dean knew he was powerless.  Knew his current injuries prevented him from being particularly useful, but he hadn’t seemed to care.  He hadn’t demanded anything in return. 

Thumbing at the pages, Castiel wanted to write more, to record all the details that tiny sentence left out.  Not just a sentence.  It was a fact and Castiel wanted to write down his whole conversation with Dean in its entirety, verbatim. 

Compared to before, his human memory was so inadequate and Castiel hated it.  When he had observed earth, he saw many things, both mundane and extraordinary.  He’d watched mountains form and lakes fill, seen species evolve and go extinct.  The humans hadn’t been around for very long, but he witnessed civilizations rise and collapse.  Castiel saw and remembered. 

Now days tended to blur together. 

It wasn’t the same confusion he felt while trapped in the basement.  With no daylight to mark its passing, time had been inestimable there.  He would wake from one nightmare only to realize he was in the midst of another. Eating was an unreliable indicator since offers to negotiate for food were few and far between.  Castiel had purposefully tried to forget, to block out what was happening to him and there was no recurring constant to measure against. 

At the bunker Castiel kept careful track of the time, the days, but they were starting to muddle together, indistinct.  Sleeping, showering, eating—necessary human maintenance that was largely insignificant.  It failed to be particularly memorable, but the conversation he had with Dean was. 

Castiel scribbled down as much of it as he could remember.  He wrote until his fingers were cramping, shaking out his hand and changing his position at the table in the library so he could continue to record it all. 

He wrote about Dean’s rough hands encasing his own, completely unafraid of touching him.  The apology he never thought he’d hear or deserve.  How Dean still wasn’t giving up on him, despite his many mistakes.  The knowledge that Sam’s life had been in jeopardy when Dean kicked him out.  That he’d had no choice.  Castiel could relate to that.

During their talk, Dean had been kind and affectionate—Castiel paused staring at the word. Was Dean affectionate?  He nearly crossed it out, but decided against it, deeming the adjective accurate, though unusual for Dean.  All the more reason to write it down while it was fresh in his mind. 

Castiel hoped Dean wasn’t just coddling him because he was weak.  It hadn’t felt like that at the time.  In some ways, Dean’s arms around him made Castiel nervous and itchy to pull away, but it’d also been absolving, shaking loose the tightness in his chest.  Dean was the only one who held him carefully.  No one else had touched him like that

Pressing his face into Dean’s shirt had made him think of the car ride to Amelia’s, when Dean had climbed in the back seat and offered to warm him up.  Castiel had done as he was told, hesitantly moving into Dean’s arms and remaining uncomfortably stiff until he couldn’t resist the warmth.  Leaning into Dean had been both right and wrong.  Castiel had closed his eyes, silently repeating that Dean hadn’t harmed him as his arms trapped him ever so gently and Castiel blamed his fever for making him so delirious and trusting before he succumbed to sleep. 

This time had been different. 

He’d wanted to crash into Dean, seeking comfort in his embrace and he hadn’t been disappointed. 

Touch was more intense as a human.  Castiel hated nearly all his experiences with it so far, but Dean was the exception.  Castiel found he could fight off his own objections long enough to endure the contact.  Dean was giving instead of taking and Castiel wanted to absorb every moment of it in case he never got another chance. 

Castiel reread what he’d written.  Generally, it was all positive and he ignored the dark thoughts clamoring to bleed onto the page.  He didn’t want them soiling the few good moments he already recorded. 

Instead he wrote about Charlie.  She had been angry on his behalf when he revealed that Dean had told him to leave.  It was strange to have someone on his side.  Charlie didn’t understand why Dean had kicked him out either and when he had tried to repeat that it was because Dean didn’t want him, Charlie refused to believe it.  “That can’t be right,” she’d said, sounding like she believed it.

He wrote about Sam apologizing to him in the kitchen, explaining that Dean had lied to him, and insisting he never would have wanted Cas to leave.

A hand flew into his line of vision and Castiel ducked, raising an arm to block his face from the blow. 

“Shit, Cas.  It’s okay.  I didn’t mean to scare you,” Dean said weakly from above him as Castiel slowly lowered his arm. 

It was just Dean. 

Castiel tried to reassure himself, but his heart was pounding as he straightened in his chair.  Kevin was across from him at the next table, sitting too still and staring intently at his laptop.  

“I thought, well, you’re jumpy sometimes when I touch you.  I thought this,” Dean waved his hand harmlessly, “might work better.”

Realizing he didn’t have the breath to respond, Castiel nodded, eyes falling to the notebook open beneath his hands which he promptly closed. 

“Anyway, I was going for a drive, wanna come with?”

If Dean had asked a few days earlier Castiel might have hesitated, torn between wanting to leave the bunker and fearful of not being allowed back in, but with Dean’s words from the day before fresh in his mind, the worry was less significant. 

“Okay,” Castiel agreed, “let me put this away.” 

The corner of Dean’s mouth lifted in a small lopsided smile as Castiel pushed out of his chair, determinedly ignoring the way his legs felt a little bit rubbery. 

“I think I prefer it when you tap me on the shoulder,” he suggested, thinking of their recently recorded conversation.  Dean had said something about wanting Cas to tell him things he didn’t like. 

“Can do,” Dean called from behind him as Castiel exited the library.

It didn’t take long to return the book to his room, but Castiel decided on the way that he should change to leave the bunker.  The only jeans he had were an old pair of Dean’s that hung too loosely around his waist once he wrestled them over his cast. 

Back in the library, Dean took one look at him before declaring he was buying him more clothes and then went to get him a belt to borrow.  Not having to worry about tripping over his pants, made Castiel’s first journey up the two flights of stairs and out of the bunker marginally easier.  Dean didn’t complain about his slowness, but Castiel was frustrated by his own poor stamina and grateful that the car was parked close to the door. 

Driving with Dean was easy.  He encouraged rolling down the windows and put in a tape that Castiel recognized from him playing it before.  With the loud music there was no pressure to talk, and Castiel focused his attention on the clouds and the grass and how if he tipped his head a certain way out the window he could feel the air whipping past his face and the sun warming his skin. 

They zipped along for a while before Dean started turning onto roads with lower speed limits.  The drive ended shortly after that, when he parked the car in front of a second-hand store and pocketed his keys.

 Apparently, they were shopping for clothing now. 

“We can get you some nicer stuff later, once you’ve got more meat on your bones,” Dean explained as he led the way towards the men’s section.  Castiel hurried to keep up with him.  “You just need a couple pairs of jeans and maybe some more shirts to layer with.”

Dean guessed at Castiel’s size and they combed through the racks looking for viable options.  The store wasn’t particularly crowded, but there were enough people milling around that Castiel found it difficult to focus on his task.  Browsing through the hanging pants left him blind to the people who intermittently passed behind him, so he kept looking over his shoulder and distractedly checking the tags on the same pair of jeans several times. 

Dean was humming along to the overhead music as he shoved clothing from one side of the rack to the other.  When Castiel finally found a pair of pants with the suggested measurements Dean was skeptical. 

“Those really your size?”

“Yes.”

“Must be skinny jeans or something.  They won’t work.”

Castiel peered at the label again, certain he hadn’t made a mistake.

“If these are too big on me,” he said, plucking at the ones he was wearing, “wouldn’t skinny jeans fit better?”

“It’d be all tight in the legs, man.  You wouldn’t like it.  Doubt you’d get ’em over your cast anyway.”

Dean took them and thrust them back onto the rack, dumping the ones he’d already picked out into Castiel’s arms and rapidly checking through a few more inches worth of hangers until he found something worthy of a moments consideration. 

“Think these are worth trying on?”

Castiel didn’t see why not—they were just black jeans—so he nodded and let Dean add them to the other items he’d found.  Following him a few rows over, Castiel hovered near Dean as he repeated the process with a long line of shirts. 

“You’re easy,” Dean said, when Castiel agreed to the sixth shirt in a row that he held up for approval.  “Never go clothes shopping with Sam.  Dude wants certain colors and patterns, like they’re not gonna be torn and blood stained within a month.  He’s got a weird thing with snaps too, like buttons are too hard for his gorilla hands.” 

Gathering up the collection of shirts, Dean meandered towards the back of the store.  Castiel nearly bumped into him when he stopped abruptly to examine a sparse display of unboxed shoes, picking up one boot and searching the bottom for a size before dropping it again. 

Dean pointed him to a dressing room.  “Figure out what fits.  Shirts should be good, but at least try the jeans.  I’ll see if they have any belts,” he said before wandering away.

Castiel watched him for a moment then shuffled the pile of garments so he could pull open the door to the small, poorly named dressing room.  It was really more of a stall. 

A flurry of movement in the full-length mirror opposite him stole his attention away from the flimsy door and Castiel blinked at his reflection holding a heap of clothing before quickly looking away.  He could still see himself in his peripheral vision as he hung everything on a hook.

Turning to face the door, Castiel pulled it shut and slid the lock across.  It was an insubstantial thing, unlikely to keep someone out if they really wanted to get in.  He was sure a few decent shoves or a solid kick could break the lock and force the door open. 

Castiel fingered at his borrowed belt through the three layers he was wearing.  He knew he should be getting undressed, but the idea of removing any clothing, even something simple like his jacket or solitary shoe… it was too great a risk. 

The people out there couldn’t be trusted.  They could get to him too easily in this laughably constructed room and he wasn’t strong enough to fight someone off.  He couldn’t even make a proper fist with his fingers still healing, not to mention he didn’t have a weapon to defend himself with.  Unless he broke the mirror.  That could work. 

Castiel didn’t break it.

He didn’t get undressed.

Motionless, he stared at the lock until he felt dizzy and had to put a hand to the wall to steady himself.  Leaning into it, he rested his forehead on his arm, trying to recall what Kevin had taught him about calming breaths.  He focused on filling his lungs with air instead of the creeping heat spreading up his back, because he was basically trapped.

Castiel knew he should move.  Maybe try to sit down before he fell down, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to manage that successfully.  He feet felt immovable, like they were both casted in lead instead of just the one wrapped in plaster.

Without a clear plan of action, Castiel remained stuck where he was, waiting for nothing in particular.  When the door rattled under the force of a quick knock, Castiel lifted his head slowly, a statue coming to life.

“Cas?  You try the pants yet?  I got a belt.  You want it?”  Dean called through the door, calm and completely unaware of Castiel’s pathetic dressing room drama.    

Castiel fumbled with the lock, certain that he wanted to be out.  To be on the other side of the door instead of caught in a cramped space while the mirror documented his failure. 

As he pushed the door open, Dean caught the edge, stopping Cas from falling over as he swung with it. 

“Cas?  You okay?”

Dean was right in front of him, but he seemed to be moving too fast.  Castiel was slower.  He was underwater, an exhibit at the aquarium, floating undisturbed, suspended.  He could clearly see Dean through the thick glass, but could never touch him, couldn’t hope to communicate, even if they were the same species.  He could only watch, adrift, listening to Dean’s muted sounds, but not really comprehending. 

Relocating his hand, Dean gripped Castiel’s shoulder, steadying him further and sending little sparks of energy shooting into him with every squeeze of his fingertips.  It was enough to punch through Cas’s glass enclosure, the water bursting free, draining the tank until his head broke the surface. 

“I, I’m okay,” Castiel forced out.

“Like hell you are,” Dean said, hauling him closer and adopting the same positioning he’d often used to help Castiel when he’d been truly unable to walk on his own. 

It was odd to be pressed so close to Dean again, but Castiel ignored his inclination to separate himself.  Trusting Dean was better than hanging onto the door of an uncomfortably small room he’d been desperate to escape.  Laboring over moving his feet, Cas allowed himself to be steered back to the small shoe section and lowered onto the bench in the middle of the aisle. 

Dean kept a hand on his shoulder.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, take a minute.  Just sit.  Breathe,” Dean said, slowly sliding his hand away and taking a step back as he glanced around the store. 

Castiel wondered if he was embarrassed. 

Humans didn’t freeze up trying on clothes.  They didn’t panic over too small dressing rooms and forget how to function.  It wasn’t normal.  He wasn’t normal.  

Even the shoe racks surrounding them still seemed a little too close. 

He never should have left the bunker.

“I didn’t try anything on.”

“So what, Cas?  I’ll just buy ’em.  You can figure it out at home, but I’m pretty sure most of it will fit and it’s not like they don’t take returns.  Stay here and I’ll grab the stuff.” 

Dean headed back where they’d just come from and Castiel watched him go, a spike of fear piercing his held breath and making him gasp as Dean disappeared from view.  Adjusting his jacket, Castiel fussed at the collar, palming the back of his neck and tugging at the too short hair failing to hide the evidence that he wasn’t as human as the rest of the shoppers, but then Dean was in sight again, arms full of clothing, and Cas forced himself to his feet. 

“Whoa, Cas.  Go slow, all right?” Dean’s free hand found his arm again, lightly touching and guiding him all the way to the front of the store. 

They had to wait in a short line since there was only one cashier, and even though Castiel was eager to leave, he declined Dean’s offer to walk him out to the car, preferring to stay together for reasons he wasn’t sure he’d be able to explain. 

If Castiel had to guess, he was pretty sure it had something to do with how Dean was there right away when he needed him again a minute later. 

Distracted by the little girl in front of him clinging to her mother’s skirt, Castiel didn’t see the man coming until he was too close, cutting across the middle of the line, invading Castiel’s space in the process and giving the kid a much wider berth.  His belated ‘excuse me’ gave no warning at all when he jostled past and Castiel backed into Dean so fast he would’ve fallen over if a steadying hand hadn’t found the small of his back. 

The touch might have startled him further, but with it came Dean’s low voice in his ear, calmly saying his name, whispering an assurance that it was okay.  That he was all right. 

Castiel managed to hold it together until they were out of the store.  The wide-open space of the parking lot eased some of the tension from his shoulders and he was grateful that Dean took his time standing outside of the car, pouring over the receipt he’d gotten and sending a text to Charlie.

While Dean was telling him over the roof of the car about a place to eat nearby, Castiel opened his door and Dean finally seemed ready to get in and leave as well.  As they drove, Dean didn’t mention what had happened in the store and Castiel followed his lead, irritated at himself. 

He didn’t particularly want to go somewhere else and eat lunch with Dean, but it would give him an opportunity to prove he wasn’t always going to fall apart in public spaces.  Castiel hoped he could manage, but when they got to the diner, Dean told the hostess they were just going to order food to-go from the counter. 

He _was_ embarrassed.  Castiel stared at the menu, not reading it, equal parts annoyed and upset.  He hadn’t meant to lose control of himself while they were out, but he thought Dean would give him a second chance. 

Dean ended up ordering for them both when Castiel told him he wasn’t hungry, but he insisted that Cas pick out a milkshake flavor from the extensive options.  For a moment, he forgot his frustration as he read through the list of shakes.  There were over fifty kinds. 

“This is something you drink?”  Castiel asked when he kept coming across questionable flavors like French Toast and Caramel Apple Pie. 

“Uh huh.”

Several had fruit in their name like Strawberry Banana and Black Raspberry.

“So, they’re like Sam’s smoothies?”

“God, no.  They taste a helluva lot better.”

“What kind did you get?”

“Reese’s.  Chocolate, peanut butter, nuts.  Can’t go wrong.”

Castiel was puzzling over what might be in something called Fluffernutter, besides nuts, when he spotted one he wanted. 

“I’ll try the Peanut Butter and Jelly.”

“Knew you’d pick a weird one,” Dean said, but he smiled as he waved the guy over to add it on to their order. 

It didn’t seem any stranger than Reese’s.  Castiel had never heard of that. 

By the time they got back in the car ten minutes later, they had each tried both shakes and Dean declared his superior.  Castiel would have argued that they were both good in different ways, but watching Dean pick a few fries out of the bag made him remember that he would rather eat in the car then sit inside with him. 

“About the store, Dean.  I, I’m sorry I embarrassed you, but we could’ve eaten inside.  I was going to try to do better.” 

“What?” Dean managed, mouth full of food before he swallowed.  “I wasn't embarrassed.  And don’t apologize, Cas.  I don’t give a damn about the stuff at the store.  In fact, I thought you did good back there.  Sure, you got upset, but you pulled it together.” 

“Then why are we eating in the car?”

“We’re not.”  Dean jammed the key into the ignition, bringing the engine to life with a familiar rumble.  “I had somewhere else in mind.” 

 

 

 

Somewhere else turned out to be a park.  Dean led Cas across the grass to an empty picnic table, half in the shade of a tree.  Castiel quickly chose the sunniest spot for himself while Dean unpacked the food and napkins, upending the bag so ketchup packets fell out. 

“Never been here, but I’ve driven past a few times,” Dean said as he folded the foil back from his sandwich.  “Thought you might like being outside.  Even I start to feel like a friggin’ gopher when I’m stuck in the bunker too long.”

That wasn’t how being underground made Castiel feel, but he saw no reason to correct Dean.  The park was a good choice, whatever his reasoning. 

There were very few people around, but occasionally someone would pass by on the path that wound by their spot.  Castiel followed each person's progress, picking over his food and failing to keep pace with Dean, even though he was eating slower than he typically did. 

Castiel listened to Dean chatting on and off while they ate.  He talked about the work he’d done on Charlie’s car and the effort he and Sam were putting into converting one of the larger bedrooms into a sort of lounge area.

After his difficulties at the store, Castiel expected his whole day to be tinged with anxiety and the hopelessness that often seized his heart, but there was something simple about sitting outside with Dean.  Watching the birds flitting between the nearby bushes and soaking up the sunlight dappling his skin was… calming, pleasant. 

There was no stilted conversation about his problems, just Dean’s warm voice breaking up patches of quiet. 

When a couple of daring birds ventured closer to their table, Castiel tossed tiny bits of bread and broken pieces of French fries in their direction.  It was all quickly devoured and the little sparrows hopped closer.

One of them fluttered onto the bench, meandering within close range and Castiel decided that bird was more foolish than the others. 

“He must like you,” Dean said, when the bird didn’t even flinch at the fry Cas lofted at him. 

“He doesn’t know any better,” Castiel said, taking another bite of his sandwich and a sip of his milkshake.  Setting the cup back down on an uneven bit of wood caused it to tip over.  It didn’t spill, but the noise and Castiel scrambling to catch it, was enough to send the bird flying away at the first sign of danger. 

He flapped to the safety of a low hanging branch, landing unscathed, and Castiel decided he misjudged him. 

 

 

 

 

His outing with Dean was the first of several new experiences that week. 

Charlie spent a portion of the following morning introducing him to his laptop.

Eager to learn something, Castiel paid careful attention and took extensive notes so Charlie wouldn’t have to explain the same things to him twice.  She showed him google and youtube and bookmarked some websites intended for survivors of abuse and rape that she thought he should look through. 

Castiel preferred the distracting videos of cats squeezing into impossibly small containers and foxes jumping on trampolines, but none of it seemed to lend itself well to hunting.

When he woke in the middle of the night from a disturbing dream, Castiel tried the computer again, practicing the things Charlie had shown him.  He even looked at some of the websites he hadn’t wanted to see earlier.  One had a section comprised entirely of message boards which Castiel found curious.  If he understood correctly, the purpose was for people to connect over relatable trauma. 

He made the mistake of starting to read a man’s account of being raped. 

It was one long paragraph and even though the descriptions were vague, Castiel felt like he was sinking with every word.  His throat constricted, pain curdled in his stomach.  Unable to read anymore, Castiel shoved the laptop away, folding in on himself and clawing at the blankets, like squeezing them hard enough would keep him safe on his bed. 

Castiel didn’t know how long he was frozen there, trying not to make a sound as he struggled to breathe and fought against the sensation that he was being crushed into the mattress.  As soon as he was able to make his limbs work, he staggered from the room, not knowing where he was going until he half fell into the kitchen. 

Once his dizziness and nausea passed and his thrumming heart slowed to a more normal state, Castiel made coffee, not willing to entertain the idea of trying to sleep.  It was too early to wake anyone up, but he kind of hoped the smell would rouse someone.

Nobody joined him in the kitchen until a couple hours later when Sam wandered in.  Castiel was so relieved to see a familiar face that he followed Sam outside, telling him he’d be fine sitting on the steps while he set off on his run. 

While waiting, Castiel watched the sky gradually lighten.  He didn’t dare go any further from the bunker entrance, but not one person or vehicle passed by the entire time Sam was gone. 

Later that day, after dinner, Kevin invited him to play chess, certain that Castiel would like it since it was a strategy game.  He tried to pay attention while Kevin taught him how to play.  It did seem interesting, but Castiel had trouble keeping his mind on the game.  His lack of sleep wasn’t doing him any favors and he lost twice in a row before Sam switched places with him.

Dean was at the next table with Charlie, hemming one of the pairs of pants that was slightly too long on Castiel, much to her amusement. 

“Renaissance man, huh?  Didn’t know that included sewing.”

“So what, I can stitch together skin and not denim?  Before Sam grew into the magical beanstalk he is today, he had to wear my hand-me-downs.  Kid would’ve been tripping all over himself.”

“I’m not making fun.  This just means you can help me with LARPing costumes,” Charlie grinned as she turned back to her laptop.        

Castiel considered going to get his own or maybe his notebook to have something to do, but he was too tired to get up out of his chair and trek to his room and back.  So, he watched the game, half-listening to the sporadic conversation. 

Kevin and Sam played to a draw that ended in Kevin’s favor if his smirk was anything to go by. 

“Cas?  You want to play again?  You could go against Sam?”  Kevin asked as they both reset the chess pieces.

“Maybe some other time.”

Sam paused, still holding his rook, and turned towards Cas. 

“You don’t want to play?”

Castiel blinked at Sam, hoping he hadn’t offended him. 

“I’d rather not,” he said, confused when Sam dropped his hand holding the chess piece back against the board too forcefully, rattling a few of the pawns.

“You want to play Kevin again?”

Sam was upset with him.  Castiel glanced quickly to Kevin who didn’t seem to know what was going on either. 

“I, um… not right now,” Castiel said, suddenly aware that they were all staring at him.

“It’s a yes or no question,” Sam pressed, trying to catch his attention now that Castiel was avoiding him.

“Back off, man.  He answered you already,” Dean said from behind him and Castiel pushed his chair away from the table so he could manage to see all of them at the same time. 

Sam ignored his brother.  “If you don’t want to play, Cas, just say no.  Tell me ‘no.’  Or tell me why you won’t say it.  I mean, you don’t have to get into the specifics of why, but give us something.”

Castiel froze, uncertain and uncomfortably aware that they were all waiting on his response.  Once or twice before, they’d had awkward moments when one of them said the wrong thing and Castiel could feel the whole room hold its breath, collectively waiting for him to react, anticipating a meltdown.

“Sam.  I, um…”  Castiel faltered, having no clear reply in mind, but feeling compelled to respond, hoping it would keep him from getting into trouble.  “I don’t, uh…”  Everyone was watching him expectantly.  “O-okay.  Yes.  I’ll, uh, play again.”

Next to him, Sam sighed.

“I don’t mean to put you on the spot, Cas, but I want you to know that you can say no to me, to us.  You _should_ say no if that’s what you mean.”

Sam was right, of course.  

Castiel wet his lips, imagining the word on his tongue, but the thought made him nauseous and brought a rising tide of terror.  Before he was aware of moving, Castiel was up and across the room.  He thought he might have said the word ‘sorry,’ as he made it out of the library and through the map room. 

Someone was following him and he knew it was Dean without looking.  He felt his hand on his elbow, but Cas didn’t notice his route had been changed until he was sitting on the edge of a couch. 

He was in the larger bedroom, closest to the kitchen, that they had added the couch to so it could pass as the official ‘Movie Room.’  Dean was there, stealing the blanket from the bed and draping it around him. Castiel almost asked why, but as Dean tucked it around him and patted his shoulder he understood. 

In the basement, he’d been allowed a sheet sometimes.  When his hands were chained to the wall instead of bound behind him, he could manipulate the thin fabric, allowing for a bit of modesty and warmth.  Large enough to act as both pillow and blanket it had been a small comfort.  A protective shield, even if the safety was only an illusion.  

Dean sat next to him and Castiel loosened the blanket so his arms didn’t feel trapped.  They didn’t talk, but Dean was half turned in his direction, close enough that Castiel kept checking his watch, counting the minutes.  As he watched Dean’s chest move steadily, Castiel slowed his own breathing to match. 

When Dean finally moved, he left and Castiel worried that he should have apologized, but Dean was back a minute later with a glass of water that he held out towards him.  Castiel felt obligated to take a sip and say something.

“Did you want to watch a movie?” Cas asked, glancing at the recently acquired television.

“No, well we could if you want to,” Dean joined him on the couch, “but I brought you in here to talk about the ‘no’ thing.” 

“We did talk about it.” 

“Uh, no.  Sam tried to talk about it and you ran away.  I get it if you didn’t want to tell them, but you can tell me, right?” 

Castiel drank more water. 

“I’m not asking you to say it right now, but Sam’s right, Cas.  You should say ‘no’ when you don’t want to do something.  You won’t get in trouble. Those guys are all dead, you know.  I killed 'em myself.  You can say and do anything you want now.” 

Dean had told him before that the men were gone.  Castiel didn’t know how to feel about it.  It was good they wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone else, but the Winchesters killing people on his behalf?  Cas wasn’t sure he was worth it.    

“We want you to feel safe here,” Dean added, taking the glass out of his hands and setting it on one of the upside-down crates acting as a coffee table.

“I, I do, but… the things that happened.  Sometimes I feel afraid again, like I’m there.  It feels real, like I never left,” Castiel said, twisting his hands in his lap. 

He didn’t know how to explain, how to make Dean understand.  Even right now, safe on the couch in what could be one of the most secure places on the planet, he felt vulnerable.  He knew he should be able to respond to a simple question with ‘no,’ but just thinking of doing so had him terrified of the consequences.

“They hurt me when I said it.  When I refused.  And they…” 

Something bad was going to happen.  He could feel it building.

“You’re a fighter, Cas and I’m glad you fought those shitheads as long as you could, but they might’ve killed you if you kept it up.”

Dean’s hand slid into his and Castiel seized it immediately, finding strength in his grip and the courage to utter a few more words.

“You saw the videos.  So, you know about the o-other man?”

“Uhm, which man?  All the videos had—”

“He was like me,” Castiel whispered, heart thudding in his chest and unable to look at Dean.

“Like you?  You mean someone else they hurt?  There wasn't anybody like that in the videos, Cas.  Just you.”

Castiel frowned at that information.  He was certain they’d been filmed together at some point, but it was hard to remember.  It had been in the beginning.  What he could recall wasn’t always clear.  Things got fuzzy and his memories blurred together. 

“They called him Doll.  He was younger,” Cas said, speaking as loud as he dared.  “Had been there longer.  He didn’t talk to me, was kept away from me, but I hated him too, because he helped them hurt me.”

Doll Baby, Doll Face.  He must have had a real name, but Castiel never heard it.  He responded to whatever name they threw at him, just like he did eventually.  The man was younger, smaller, paler.  Castiel had tried to forget him, but he could still see his face. 

“Did he wear a mask?  Like the others?” Dean asked, squeezing his hand and Cas quickly found his green eyes in an attempt to forget those sad hazel ones that had looked without seeing.

Of course, he didn’t wear a mask.  He had no identity to protect.  They weren’t even human in that basement.

Castiel shook his head, dread pressing at him from all sides. 

“I fought too much.  When I resisted they started hurting him to get me—to make me behave.”  Castiel swallowed against the crystalline snap of bone and the man’s accompanying cries he could still hear.  “I hated hearing him scream.  I tried to do better, to obey but…” 

Everything had been so painful, he couldn’t help yelling, shouting ‘No’ sometimes. 

“They killed him,” Castiel said, trying not to see it happening again in his head.  

He didn’t have any more tears for the man.  Their relationship had been complicated, but he’d never wanted him injured.  Or dead. 

Being aware of Castiel’s guilt, Mal mentioned Doll a lot afterwards.  He’d taken to showing Castiel pictures of other men.  Always threatening to bring one of them to take his place.  Additions to his collection if Cas didn’t submit and do as he was told.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, and then he was pulling him into a hug, one hand stroking through his hair, repeating a pattern that stopped before it reached the burn on his neck. 

With his chin on Dean’s shoulder, Castiel stared at the bare wall, trying to understand why he wasn’t blaming him.  He didn’t deserve comforting. 

“Cas, that wasn’t your fault.” 

In some respects, Castiel agreed with Dean’s statement.  It was manipulation and coercion.  Nothing had been within his control, but a man was still dead.  If he had been stronger, smarter, he might have been able to find a way to save him.  To get them both out of there. 

“They were going to kill him either way,” Cas said.  His voice came out funny, flat, and Dean hugged him a little tighter. 

He believed that.  That he was the replacement.  The young man no longer needed or wanted, despite what they said about his death being Cas's fault. 

Castiel was no stranger to death.  He’d seen fallen comrades and slain enemies, killed angels and humans alike.  Experienced the accompanying regret and even tried to atone for the devastation he’d caused. 

Being close to death as a human was different, a new kind of grief rolled up in his fear and guilt.  Even with a stranger, he’d felt some sort of kinship; they’d both been captives.

If he hadn’t already been familiar with carnage, being left for hours with the body might have bothered him more.  Though he could have done without one of Mal’s friends trying to force him to abuse it.  He’d fought them then, taken their punishments until they’d finally disposed of the body.   

“Cas?”

Dean was pulling away, his arms sliding down as he leaned back to check on him, but Cas didn’t want him to go.  He grabbed at his arms, then his shirt, reining him back in, suddenly desperate for Dean’s warmth, his breath and his pulse.  He wanted to hear his voice, feel the movement of his hands, and the unending rise and fall of his chest. 

“It’s okay, Cas.  Got you,” Dean said, easily fitting his arms around him again. 

“I didn’t do it.  I didn’t hurt him.  Didn’t touch him.”

“I know, Cas.  I know.”

Turning his face into Dean’s neck, Castiel wondered at finding comfort in the closeness, but didn’t question it. 

“You can’t save everybody, you told me that once,” Dean murmured, exhaling near his ear and Cas tried to focus on his words instead of the vile memories that came with a breath.  “If there was a way to save that guy I know you would’ve done whatever it took.”

They stayed pressed together, Cas determinedly clutching Dean and accepting every calming stroke of his hand across his back.  He didn’t know what made Dean want to be so close to him, but Castiel intended to stay right where he was until Dean pulled away or until being held morphed into something unbearable.

Far too soon, Dean was separating them, scooting further along the couch and widening the distance between them until he severed all contact. 

“Just take it easy, Cas,” he said as he looked back over his shoulder at the doorway.  Sam appeared at the entrance a moment later, foregoing knocking since they saw him, and taking a few steps into the room. 

“Just checking on you guys.  You all right, Cas?”

“He’s fine,” Dean answered, giving a fantastically inaccurate description of how wrong Castiel still felt.

Sam hesitated, like he was considering if he should accept Dean’s response, but Castiel knew humans (and Winchesters especially) lied about how they were feeling on a regular basis and so he nodded along.  When Sam started to apologize, Castiel unstuck his throat and told him it was okay.  He knew Sam hadn’t been trying to upset him.  

“Well, Cas, I don’t know if it’s the word specifically or the meaning behind it, but I was thinking it might help you to try saying something else.  Maybe ‘nah’ or ‘nope’ and sort of work your way up to ‘no.’  Does that make sense?” Sam asked, uncertain of his own suggestion.

“Genius, Sam.  He can try it in German too, what would that be?  Das nein?”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Cas said, while Sam shot Dean one of his special reserve bitch faces.  “It could be worth exploring.”

“You just need some more time and a little practice,” Dean said, clapping him on the shoulder. 

“Yeah, besides you’ve been conveying ‘no’ without saying it and that’s the most important part.  Just keep being honest if you don’t want to do something.”

“Right.  None of us are gonna force you to play chess with Sam if you don’t wanna.”

“Thank you,” Cas said, oblivious to Dean’s smirk. 

“We talked earlier about watching a movie.  You two interested or should I give you more alone time?”

“Just make the popcorn, bi-b-brother.”

“Okay, jerk,” Sam laughed.  “That sound good to you, Cas?”

“Yes.  We can watch a movie.”

Sam left with a smile on his face, promising to return with the others and Cas felt grateful for the Winchesters, just being with them brought a level of peace.  Some light to his darkness.

He was so broken, but they wanted him to stay. To watch movies and play chess.  They cared about what he wanted.  Listened when he decided to speak. 

And Dean.

Dean was more thoughtful than he remembered.  Softer, somehow and patient every time Castiel opened his mouth and vocalized another hidden insecurity, revealing another shattered piece of himself.  He doubted any of it could be repaired or made whole again, but at least Dean was willing to sift through the wreckage with him.  It was more than he deserved.

“Thank you, Dean.  You’ve been so kind, all of you,” Cas started, pausing when he looked down at the new clothes he was wearing.  They gave him everything—food, clothing, a place to stay—Castiel didn’t know where to start.  “I owe you so much for all you’ve done for me.”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, Cas.  You’re not some damn charity case, man.  You’re family.  There is no quid pro quo here.  So if you’re still operating under the assumption that I’m being kind so you’ll owe me later, then,” Dean shook his head, mouth slightly open as he searched for the right words. “Then I guess I better do a better job, because that's not how it works.”

Family.  It wasn’t the first time Dean had referred to him that way, but Castiel had been left behind and sent away as many times as Dean had fought for him.  Dean had called him ‘brother’ before too, but Cas knew better than to compare himself to Sam. 

“You’d still consider me family?”

“Yeah, once you’re a Winchester there’s no going back and you’ve definitely got a lifetime membership.” 

Dean smiled so broadly his eyes crinkled with it and the sight easily ranked as one of the most beautiful things Castiel had seen in months.  He wished he could preserve it in his journal along with what Dean had just said.  Castiel repeated the sentence over and over to himself, as Sam, Kevin, and Charlie all filed in, hoping he’d remember it word for word.

Charlie sat down on Dean’s other side, handing him a beer and immediately taking off her shoes so she could pull her feet up onto the couch.  Kevin had two bowls of popcorn and Charlie eagerly took one from him before he settled on the bed, Sam joining him once the movie was ready to go. 

The lamp on the bedside table clicked off and then back on less than a minute later.  Castiel knew it was most likely for his benefit, but he found it hard to care since Dean’s hand had slipped into his during the moment of darkness.

Rearranging the blanket across his lap, Castiel leaned back against the couch, letting his head rest on the cushion and sliding his eyes from the opening scene over to Dean.  Fatigue hit him almost immediately and the soothing way Dean’s thumb was sliding across the back of his hand made it even harder to keep his eyes open. 

 

 

 

 

When Castiel woke, the TV was off.  The room quiet and empty except for Dean, who was half-lying on the couch and partly covered with the opposite end of Castiel’s blanket.  He hadn’t moved from his spot next to Cas, but had slumped over at some point so his head was now resting on Charlie’s vacated seat. 

Castiel watched him sleep, absently rubbing the kinks out of his neck and shoulder until he could no longer ignore his full bladder. 

After the bathroom, he stopped in his room to get a pillow, having every intention of returning to sit on the couch with Dean.  He hadn’t fixed the disarrayed blankets on his bed and seeing them made him think of the nightmare that had woken him early the previous morning.  Then there was his laptop sitting where he’d left it after his bad experience online. The sight of it only cemented his desire to leave the room. 

As he got back in the hallway, it occurred to Castiel that Dean could probably benefit from a pillow as well and so he went to his room to get one.  It wasn’t until he had gathered both in his arms that Cas realized the potential of the pillow Dean spent hours curled up to at night. 

Castiel crushed it to his face and inhaled.  The scent differed from what had lingered on the collar of his jacket, more subtle, but still undeniably Dean and Castiel traded his pillow for Dean’s other one before he set off down the hall. 

Closing the door behind him woke Dean and he slowly sat up, yawning and rubbing at his face and hair.

“’S late?”

“Almost quarter of three,” Cas said, having noted the time on the clock in his room.

“Ugh, shouldn’t have slept in here,” Dean groaned, pushing himself off the couch and slowly straightening his stiff back.  “Nnnh, let’s go to bed, get a few more hours.  ’kay?”

Castiel hugged the pillows to his chest, aware that this was an opportune moment to voice his disagreement and tell Dean ‘no,’ but he stayed silent.  Just because he didn’t want to go sleep in his room didn’t mean he should object.  He could see Dean was tired.

“You conked out right away and slept through both Ghostbusters, ya know,” Dean said, tossing the blanket off his legs and pushing himself up from the couch.  “Is one of those for me?”

He was pointing at the pillows, so Cas handed him one.  Dean turned it over in hands and then cast a look between Castiel and the couch. 

“You were coming back here to sleep?  Why?”

Castiel couldn’t think of any excuse to explain the pillows and he stared at the one he was holding as he answered.

“My room…  I didn’t want to, to be there.  Last night, I had an upsetting dream, but in here,” Castiel dared to meet Dean’s eyes, “with you, I slept well.”

“Oh.”  Dean stared back, considering Cas for a long moment and then examining his pillow again before speaking.  “I, um, I don’t mind sleeping in the same room, Cas, but between that sorry excuse for a mattress and this couch, I don’t know which’ll jack up my back worse.”

Those were the only two options, short of sleeping on the floor, which Castiel knew to be uncomfortable. 

“Okay.”  He understood the rejection, even if he disliked the decision.

Cas took a hesitant step towards the door, undecided about returning to his room.

“Wait, Cas.  That doesn’t, um, I mean, we could still… There’s always my room,” Dean blurted, raising his eyebrows like the suggestion surprised him.

“Your room?”

“Well, yeah.  If that’s not weird.  I mean, I’ve got the best mattress and it’s big enough for both of us.  So…  it’s up to you.  And you can definitely say no or something if you don’t wanna.  If it’s a bad idea, I could, maybe, sit in here.  Hang out with you til you fall asleep.”

Thinking it was unlikely he’d be able to get to sleep again, Castiel agreed with the first option.  He couldn’t see much difference between sharing the couch and sharing the bed, mainly he liked the idea of staying with Dean much better than the alternative of being alone. 

They went together down the hall, carrying their pillows. 

“So, there’s the bed.”  Dean hovered near the door, waving vaguely at it, then palmed the back of his neck as the tips of his ears went pink.  “Just, why don’t you get, uh, comfortable and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Everything about the room reminded Castiel of Dean. 

The uniform neatness of his displayed guns and knives, reminiscent of the way he kept them arranged in the trunk of the Impala.  A book he’d been reading the past couple days was on his desk, along with an old propped-up picture of Dean with his mother.  The robe that Cas had only seen him wear a couple times hung near the sink, along with his slippers.  Cas observed them fondly, knowing that it meant Dean had a place he felt safe enough to forgo his usual attire and all the lock-picks and concealed weapons that went along with it.

He chose the side of the bed that looked less lived in, the bedside table empty beside him as he sat and removed his shoes.  After taking off his hoodie, Castiel stopped, feeling no need to undress further before he slipped under the covers.  The mattress was very comfortable and Castiel knocked his pillow aside, preferring one of the two that were actually Dean’s. 

With his face pressed into the pillow, wrapped up in the safe scent of Dean, Castiel didn’t hear him come back in until he set an extra blanket on the bed. 

“I wake you?” Dean asked, as he emptied his pockets onto the other side table, phone, wallet, a smattering of coins.

“I was awake.”

“I got your headphones, in case you need them.” Dean handed them over along with Castiel’s mp3 player. 

“Thank you.”

“And you don’t have to stay in here, Cas.  Like, if you wake up later or can’t fall asleep, it’s okay to leave,” Dean said as he pulled off his boots.  “Or you can wake me up if you need to.”

“All right,” Cas agreed as Dean turned his back to quickly remove his belt and his button-down shirt, leaving everything else.

The bed didn’t seem small until Dean got in, situating himself on top of the sheets Castiel was under and pulling the blanket he’d brought with him over himself. 

“Been thinking about your whole ‘no’ thing,” Dean started as he spied the third pillow and shoved it between their stomachs.  “What if, for starters, you practice saying no to made-up stuff?  Like, I’d say, ‘the bunker’s in California, right?’ And you say…?”

“That you’re wrong and it’s a lie.”  Castiel frowned, not sure he wanted to visit the topic again so soon.  “This isn’t a game, Dean.”

“I know, it isn’t,” Dean sighed, “but I think it might be easier.  You’d be disagreeing about facts, not your own feelings or wants or whatever.  Nothing bad is gonna happen.  It’s just you and me and I _want_ you to say no.  C’mon and try it, Cas.  Is it true that the bunker was built on the moon?”

The statement was ridiculous and ‘no’ flashed first in Castiel’s mind, but with it came an urgency for self-preservation.  A need to appease so he’d be safe and so the sick feeling in his stomach that insisted objecting meant danger, would pass.   

He didn’t realize he’d closed his eyes until Dean’s hand landed on his shoulder, a solid weight that kept him from drifting.  One look at Dean reminded Castiel that he was probably in the safest place he ever would be, tucked in beside Dean with only a foot of space separating them. 

“Are we on the moon right now, Cas?”  Dean asked, quirking his lips into a soft smile that didn’t mask the concern in his eyes.

“I, um,” Castiel shook his head, the word was right there, but he couldn’t push it out.  “I’m—we’re n-not…”

It was so stupid.  He should be able to say it, to call Dean’s statement false with one simple word.

Dean’s hand moved, finding his on the mattress. 

“It’s okay, Cas.”

No, no, no.  No, it wasn’t okay.  He kind of wanted someone to scream it.  It should be him.  He hadn’t said it in months, but it should be him.  He needed to say it.  He’d been silent for so long.

“I know.  I know.  I know it’s false.  I know you’re right.  I know I need to say it.  I know.  I know.  I know it’s…,” Cas took a breath, tightening his crushing grip on Dean’s hand. 

“No.”  He said it so softly Castiel almost couldn’t hear himself.  Having shut his eyes again at some point, he didn’t see if Dean missed it too.  So, he whispered it again, a little louder and a touch shaky.

“No.  Not the moon.”

“Good, Cas.  That’s really good.”  Dean patted his hand and Castiel tried to control his unintentional flinch.  His whole body felt on-edge and uneasy, waiting for an unseen threat.

Protectively pulling his arms and knees closer to his chest, Castiel tried to make himself smaller. 

“Keep talking,” he said, hoping Dean’s voice might soothe some of the tension that had him frozen expectantly.

“Like another question?  How ’bout… is Charlie taller than Sam?”

“N-no, like something that won’t make me feel so damn terrible.”

“Oh.  Um, okay, it’s okay, Cas.  You’re all right.  You’re safe here.  You’re good.” 

Dean ran a hand up his arm and Castiel clamped his mouth shut, certain the touch wouldn’t remain gentle, but it did. 

“Stuff like that?” Dean asked, cupping Castiel’s cheek and holding his gaze.

“Yes.  Good things, please.”

“Yup, um…  Okay, let’s see.  Uh, you’re here.  Safe at the bunker.  With me an' Sam.  Charlie and Kevin are here.  You just said ‘no’ a couple times, which is friggin' awesome.  Really, good job with that, buddy.” 

Castiel didn’t deserve the praise, but he needed it.  Needed to hear positive words about himself after all the hurtful ones.  It helped calm him and Castiel gathered both of Dean’s hands in his, more comfortable keeping a hold of him than letting himself be touched at the moment.

“We could go outside tomorrow,” Dean continued.  “Maybe take a drive.  I think it’s supposed to be sunny and you’d get some fresh air.  None of this piped in ventilation stuff.”

“I’d like that,” Cas agreed, able to see the green grass in Dean’s eyes, bright blades dappled in sunlight.

“Good.  And you’re getting better, Cas.  You’re healing.”

“Am I?” 

It didn’t feel like it. 

Comparatively, he knew he was better than he had been, but it was so far from enough.  He just struggled to produce a single syllable word and finally saying it didn’t feel like the triumph Dean made it out to be.  Between the nightmares and bad thoughts, he couldn’t always sleep and frequently felt exhausted.  He hurt for no reason and his appetite was lacking, as was his strength.  He’d made no helpful contributions. 

Often in the bunker, Castiel felt a disconnect from the others, from himself, even from his surroundings.  He felt like a ghost haunting their underground home.  Not quite dead, but far from alive, like he didn’t belong in their world.  They could laugh and smile together, but even when Castiel understood the humor, it didn’t register as funny.  It only got lost in the hollow parts of himself that he didn’t know how to fill.

“You are.  Trust me,” Dean said.  “Your color is better and you haven’t been coughing nearly as much.  You get around the bunker on your own now and I bet a lot of your bruising and injuries are looking better.”

“I guess.”

Castiel couldn’t be sure since he tried not to look at himself. 

“I know it’s slow going, Cas, but you are improving.  I can see it.  Just gotta take things one day at a time.”  

Castiel clung to Dean’s hands, wanting to believe his words, but unable to visualize a day that didn’t hurt. 

“It seems impossible.”

“It’s not.  And I’m gonna help you, Cas.  We all will.  Just, keep talking when you need to and tell me what I can do to help.”

“Stay with me.”

“I’m right here.  Not going anywhere,” Dean promised and Castiel knew he’d be writing that down too. 

   

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi.
> 
> I don't need to tell you how late this is. 
> 
> *hangs head in shame*
> 
> I have all sorts of fantastic excuses that I won't bore you with. 
> 
> I just hope you're all well and please enjoy the chapter! As always thank you for your continued support and patience!
> 
> Love, your slow writer
> 
> P.S. Happy Birthday, Dean!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ FIRST!  
> Hello friends, just a heads up, when I posted the previous chapter more than a month ago (gulp) I don't think it processed correctly on Ao3. My hit count didn't go up as quickly as it normally does, so before you read this chapter please click back to 19 and make sure you already read that. I feel like some people probably missed it (maybe the email notification didn't go out?) and I would hate for you to accidentally read out of order. Thanks!

 

Waking up next to Cas struck Dean as a touch surreal.

Dean didn’t get too many mornings where he woke up with a companion and he’d never experienced it at the bunker before.  In his home.

Half asleep, it took him a minute to remember Castiel was there, but once he did Dean rolled promptly onto his side to find blue eyes watching him. 

When Dean had fallen asleep, Cas had been holding his hands, but not anymore, and Dean resisted reaching for him.  It was all his fault Cas struggled with touch in the first place and Dean didn’t want to startle him when he was finally looking comfortable. 

Cas looked really good in his bed, soft hair a mess and fitting in like he was never meant to be anywhere else.  He was so close Dean could have easily slipped a hand around his waist and tugged him closer, held him right where he belonged. 

Dean ached at the thought, because he couldn’t do it. 

Cas had always been an angel, an unattainable dream he couldn’t rid from his thoughts and Dean didn’t deserve him.  He’d thought, with Cas being human, there was some possibility for more, but then he’d thrown his friend out and all his hope along with him. 

No matter the obstacles over the years, Cas had always been there, constantly redefining his place in Dean’s life.  From reluctant allies to comrades, Cas quickly became a friend, a brother, _family_ that Dean couldn’t quite define beyond knowing Cas belonged at his side.

Right where he was now.

“Morning, sunshine.  You sleep, okay?”  Dean asked, wanting to enjoy whatever this was for a little longer. 

The ‘this’ he had let himself think about on and off through a few apocalypses and innumerable battles he’d gladly fight again if it led him back to this moment.  This delicate illusion that he and Cas were together and safe and decidedly exploring exactly what type of family they were to each other. 

“Yes.  And you, Dean?”

Cas’s voice was rough with sleep, but he still formed Dean’s name like it was the most important word he’d say all day.

It lent itself well to Dean’s fantasy, but Winchesters didn’t get happy endings and Dean knew he wasn’t going to be the one to break that mold.  Heavenly wars and formidable enemies aside, when it came down to it, Dean had been the one to cause Cas the most damage and for that reason alone, he felt guilty for enjoying the moment.

Cas wouldn’t be next to him at all if he weren’t afraid, if nightmares didn’t keep him up at night.

“Can’t complain,” Dean said, enjoying the view until he was interrupted by the sound of a door closing in the distance.  He checked his watch to find it was half-past eight and, damn it, that meant Sam was definitely up already.  They were probably all up. 

“Gotta get moving,” Dean grumbled, as he forced himself out of bed.  He was kind of worried about arriving in the kitchen simultaneously with Cas and momentarily considered ordering him not to tell anyone about the two of them sleeping together.  As he watched Cas sitting on the edge of the bed pulling his hoodie back on, he knew he couldn’t say anything. 

There were already so many things Cas kept silent about. 

The last thing he needed was to think Dean felt ashamed about spending the night with him.  That there was anything wrong with sharing a bed.  And Dean should probably follow his own advice, because as long as Cas didn’t have an issue with the situation, then neither should anyone else. 

Dean barely considered how he’d handle getting changed with Cas in the room, when Cas stood, collecting his headphones and a pillow before making his way to the door. 

“Wait, Cas, your hair.” 

Dean had a hand brushing through the untidy strands before he was fully conscious of having moved into Cas’s space to do so. 

“Uh, it’s just—I was trying to fix it,” Dean offered lamely, withdrawing his hand and letting Cas take over.

“I’ll comb it,” he said, attempting to pat down where it was still sticking up.

“Yeah, if you feel like it.  I mean, it’s your hair, do whatever you want, but uh, I’d avoid taking tips from Sam, cause, you know he wears a wig, right?”

Immediately, Cas’s eyes narrowed as he digested the misinformation and Dean had to suppress a smirk, pleased that he had diverted them so thoroughly from his awkwardness a few seconds earlier.  He just hoped Cas would call him on the lie like he’d done the night before.

“What wig?”  Cas demanded, skeptical and seemingly offended at the very idea Sam had been deceiving him for years.

“They say you get it from your mother’s side,” Dean continued with a shrug, “and grandpa Campbell’s cranium was smoother than a pick-up line.  Guess we shouldn’t be surprised that he and Sam share more than just a name.”

Cas lifted his chin, still evaluating the lie with a practiced look of scrutiny that Dean hadn’t seen for a while.  He decided to make his intentions more obvious.

“Am I telling the truth, Cas?”

The confusion cleared at once, thought lines fading as quickly as they’d arrived, but still Cas hesitated.

Dean waited, but Cas took longer than he expected, hugging the pillow to his chest instead of just holding it.  Dean suddenly worried he was being too pushy.

“Cas?” Dean asked again, just wanting him to say anything at this point.

“You, uh,” Cas gave his head a tiny shake, eyes on the floor, “n-no.  You’re lying.”

“You got me.  Should I stop?”

For a second, Dean thought Cas might be able to give him another ‘no.’

“The absurd lies are… easier to object to.  You can,” Cas took a breath, the exhale coming out shaky, “keep asking.”

“But…?”  Dean pressed, because Cas looked miserable compared to a few minutes ago.  As he took a half-step back towards the door, Cas confirmed Dean’s suspicions by reaching for the desk to steady himself. 

“Take it easy, Cas.”

Dean raised a hand to loosely support his other arm, but Cas drifted away from it.

“It’s nothing.”

“C’mon tell me what’s up,” Dean implored, because Cas was looking down at his feet again. 

“I, it’s stupid, but, saying no, it makes me very anxious.  It was always followed by bad things and I don’t… I don’t like it.”

“So, we just follow it with good things from now on,” Dean said, thinking of how Castiel had basically asked for positive reinforcement the night before.  “You just said no, Cas.  I’m proud of you.  In fact, you’re getting bacon for breakfast.  How’s that sound?”

“You probably would’ve made bacon anyway.”

Dean laughed.  He wasn’t wrong.

“Yeah, you know me.  So, what?  What else would be good?  You want doughnuts or, like a hug or something?”  Dean tried to throw out the suggestion casually like it had just occurred to him.  Like he hadn’t wanted to hug Cas since he first woke up. 

His years of practiced lies paid off, and Castiel’s pained expression softened before he moved into Dean’s space, keeping the pillow between them as he allowed Dean to hug him. 

Dean knew to slow his movements and kept his grip loose as he folded his arms around Cas, who remained rigid.  Even though Cas failed to really participate in the hug, Dean took it for what it was.

“You’re doing good, Cas.  Glad you said no.  Keep doing that, keep speaking up.” 

Stroking a hand down Cas’s back, he struggled to convince himself that the hug was entirely for Castiel’s benefit.  Dean knew it was a stretch to put ‘hugging Dean’ on the Good Things in Life list, but hugging Cas was quickly becoming something he wanted to do more and more often now that it was realistically on the menu.  And maybe Cas felt the same way.  He’d certainly been a lot more accepting of the contact than Dean initially expected. 

When Cas started to pull away, Dean tried to make it seem like his idea.

"Enough of that for now.  Get out there before you miss out on coffee,” Dean said, giving Cas a slight push towards the door.  “I’m gonna get changed first.”

The hallway was empty as Castiel left, and Dean shut the door behind him, leaning his forehead against the cool wood.  He was so screwed.  

 

 

 

As life-altering as it should have been that he spent a not entirely platonic night in bed with Cas, nothing had changed as far as Dean could tell.  When he finally made it to the kitchen, Sam picked on his late arrival, but Dean was able to shut him down and easily switch topics.

When they'd finished eating, Kevin hung back to help him with the dishes. Putting the kitchen back in order went quickly and they weren’t too delayed in joining the others in the library.  Charlie and Cas were already next to each other with their laptops out, so Dean set up across from them with his own.  It sounded like Charlie was explaining message boards again, pointing out the symbol that indicated a trigger warning and directing Cas to the pages she thought he’d benefit from most. 

Out of curiosity, Dean pulled up the same website and began reading through popular posts under the section for friends and family of survivors.  He discreetly spent most of the morning going through it.  Some of the information was common sense and he was glad to see that a lot of what he’d been doing could be counted as appropriate.  It turned out, when push came to shove, he wasn’t completely clueless about being a supportive friend. 

Even though he’d started talking feelings with Cas out of necessity, it seemed like something he was going to have to stick with if he wanted to really be there for him.  Dean owed Cas that at the very least, considering that ‘not being there for Cas’ was what got them into this mess in the first place. 

Dean read about flashbacks and wondered if Cas had experienced any or if his more physical reactions that Dean had witnessed were better classified as panic attacks.  Clicking from one link to another, Dean made it half-way down a page before it registered that he was reading material written specifically for ‘partners.’

The heading of the next section, _Intimacy after Rape,_ tipped him off. 

It didn’t apply to him and Cas.  Not at all.  But telling himself that didn’t stop the blush creeping up his neck or the immediate guilt that hit him when he bookmarked the article for later. 

Later.  Right.  Like it wasn’t bad enough he’d ruined Cas’s life.  Now he had to go and imagine some fantasy relationship with a rape victim after just one night of sharing a bed. 

Dean got up to pour himself a drink and the first few swallows went a long way towards helping him think a little more clearly.  All the reading was starting to get to him and he decided it was a good thing Cas had taken a break from it and gone with Sam to the post office. 

Technically, this attraction to Cas was nothing new. 

Waking up with Cas may have propelled the idea to the front of his mind, but Dean had thought of it before.  Of him and Cas and what that could mean.  What they could mean.  The possibility of more had been there for a long time, years now.  But it had always been beyond his grasp.  Intangible and unimaginable, something he couldn’t really see.

At least, not until this morning when he rolled over in his bed, waking up all sleepy and warm and comfortable to the sight of Cas.  Cas in his bed, by his side, perfectly at ease, despite the trauma he’d been through.  And didn’t that just say everything? 

Leave it to Dean Winchester, general walking disaster, destroyer of good things, and undisputed failure at the only relationship he ever tried to make work, to betray his best friend by thinking of _more_ than friendship while Cas was trusting him. 

Dean drained his glass and filled it again, before returning to the table and dropping heavily into his seat.

Charlie looked up at him over her laptop and contemplatively brought the tips of her fingers together in one practiced movement.

“I’m sensing a disturbance in the force.  What troubles you, young padawan?”

“Nothing.  It’s nothing.  What, uh,” Dean wiped at his mouth and tried to look interested, “what are you working on?”

“Don’t pull that nonsense with me.  Spill, Winchester, or do I have to guess?”

Charlie carried on without giving him a chance to invent an excuse for his sudden need for alcohol.

“You lose big money in the stock market or is this about you and Cas cuddling all night?”

“Wh-w _hat?!_ How did you…  I mean, that’s not.  We weren’t.”  Charlie raised her eyebrows and Dean rushed to defend himself.  “We were on opposite sides of the bed, I swear.” 

“Wait, wait.  The _bed?_ When Cas mentioned it, I thought he meant you two slept on the couch all night, but you’re telling me there was a bed involved?  What, your bed?”

Dean licked his lips and cast a glance around the library, needlessly checking for eavesdroppers.  He chose his next words carefully, determined to figure out what Charlie knew before he accidentally fell ass backwards into another unintentional confession.

“Okay, hold on.  Let's back up a minute.  What exactly did Cas say to you?  And _when_?”

“Oh, I dunno?  Right after breakfast.  We came out here and I asked how he slept and he said, ‘good’ and that he was surprised he was so comfortable sleeping with you, something like that.  I let it go, since he didn’t dwell on it.”

Attempting to remain focused on damage control, Dean filed away the verbal confirmation that Cas was comfortable in bed with him for another day. 

“So, all right, if you thought he meant the couch, then how’d you get ‘cuddling’ from that?”

“Dude.  Come on.  I was sitting right next to you last night.  You think I didn’t see you holding Cas’s hand? Or was that just a cozy moment between bros?”

Dean poured the last of his drink into his mouth, wondering why he’d even bothered with a glass when the bottle was right there.  He got up to retrieve it, taking a swig on the walk back while Charlie rolled her eyes.

“Cas was upset, okay?  A-and the stuff on the couch and the, the bunking together thing was for him.  I wasn’t, like, trying to make a move or whatever.”

Charlie laughed, bright and merry and entirely too relaxed for their current conversation. 

“Don’t worry, Dean.  I kind of figured holding hands with Cas even after he fell asleep wasn’t your go-to seduction move.  It just seemed, well, really sweet.”  Reaching across the table, Charlie robbed him of the bottle, taking a gulp herself before tipping more into his glass.  “Do you always need this much liquor to talk about guys you like?”

Guys.  _Guys he likes_.  And Cas.  Topics in the same conversation.  Dean doubted there was enough liquor within a fifty-mile radius to prepare him for such a discussion. 

“Dean?  Did you short-circuit or something?”  Charlie asked and Dean stared blankly back at her, aware his mouth was hanging open, but unable to close it.  “Um, is this like a big deal for you? Or…?”

“I, uh,” Dean cleared his throat and tried again, “You think I’m gay?”

“No, don’t be silly.  I know you’re not gay, but I kind of thought you were bi.”

“Based on what?”  Dean demanded, because, sure, there had been a few guys here and there over the years, but it wasn’t a fact he advertised or even talked about.

“I don’t know, mainly my eyesight.  That and the first time we met, you flawlessly flirted your way past that security guard.  Then there was that squire during the LARP you seemed interested in and, I don’t know, you just ping my gaydar like fifty percent of the time.”

Rubbing at his forehead, Dean tried to absorb Charlie’s words, but hearing someone else confidently identifying him as bisexual was beyond bizarre.  His protracted silence drew a look of concern from Charlie.

“I mean, am I wrong?”

“Have you told anyone else?”  Dean managed to ask, too easily imagining a judgmental scoff from Sam, confusion from Kevin, and Cas—what would Cas think?

“You know, I forgot to mention you at the last Assholes Who Out People Before They’re Ready meeting.  Really, Dean, who do you think I’m going to tell?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Charlie, maybe the three guys we live with?” Dean hissed, lowering his voice when he remembered Kevin was still somewhere in the bunker.

“Okay, and don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m pretty sure Sam and Kevin already know.  The only person I’m not positive about is Cas, and he’s the one who you should probably tell.”

“What do you mean _they know_?”

“Well, Kevin’s from a younger generation and really smart—”

“So, what, they teach this stuff in high schools now?”

“And,” Charlie continued, speaking over Dean’s interruption, “Sam is your brother, give him some credit.  I mean, just look at the facts since you guys called me in Oz.  To start, we have you finding Cas online, because you were looking at porn staring _men only_.  I bet Kevin and Sam didn’t miss that detail.  And since you brought Cas back here, well, you’re like the fallen angel whisperer.  If it’s about Cas, everyone defers to you and…”

“And what?”

“Well, I’ve seen Sam with Cas—they’re friends, but you and Cas just seem like… more.”

Normally, Dean reacted to evolving situations really well.  In the hunting world, it came with the territory, but all this new information left him struggling to keep up.  It had never occurred to him that Sam might already know. 

“So, if they know, why wouldn’t they say something?” 

“Probably, because it doesn’t change anything,” Charlie said with a shrug.  “I mean, you’re still you.  Just dishing out the lovin’ a bit more broadly.  None of their business really.” 

Dean digested Charlie’s words.  The simple explanation couldn’t be as easy as she made it sound. 

“Guess I didn’t hide it as well as I thought, huh?” Dean asked with a slow, sheepish smile, feeling more ridiculous by the second.  He lied to people on a near constant basis, but the one he’d been practicing for years everyone saw through.  Figures.

“You don’t have to hide it at all if you don’t want to, you know.  I mean, do what you want, but it feels pretty amazing to just be yourself.  Though I think at the very least you should talk to Sam.  He’s not going to judge you or hate you or whatever you’re worried about.  He knows I love the ladies and it’s never been a problem.”

“Yeah, true,” Dean admitted, distractedly trying to remember a single time Sam had acted homophobic.  Nothing sprang to mind, but then, he had never kept it a secret because of anything his brother had done.  Liking guys had just always been one more feeling he buried, shoving it down deep, not entirely comfortable with letting Sam see that side of himself. 

“So, you’ll talk to him?” Charlie pressed when Dean had fallen silent again.

“Uh, I dunno, I guess.”

Agreeing with Charlie didn’t mean he had to bring it up to Sam anytime soon. 

“Good.  And on the off chance I’ve been misreading Sam all this time and he acts like a jerk, I promise to help you kick his ass.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Dean lifted his glass and waited for Charlie to mimic him with the bottle before they both drank.

 

 

 

It had been a weird day.  Which said a lot coming from a Dean, because as a hunter he had a long list of weird days under his belt.  Tinkerbells and suicidal teddy bears ranked fairly high in that regard, but he took it all in stride.

Today’s weirdness was personal. 

Between waking up next to Cas and careening headlong into a discussion with Charlie about his bisexuality, Dean didn’t know which surprised him more.  Not to mention that he actually felt pretty good about his talk with Charlie and kind of stupidly happy when he thought about Cas in his bed.  Dean had been outrageously unprepared for both, but neither Cas nor Charlie acted strange afterwards, so Dean tried to behave normally as well.

As the day wore on, Dean wondered if Cas would want company through the night again, but he couldn’t seem to summon the same courage to invite him.  Instead, he just hovered in his doorway at the end of the day, watching Cas peer at the miniature herb garden that Sam had gotten him. 

The two of them had set it up after they got back earlier and Cas took the whole operation way too seriously, refusing to let Sam do anything until he’d completely read through all the directions twice.  Cas seemed equally intent on it now, leaning over his desk and checking water levels or the lamp temperature or whatever you were supposed to do for a bunch of seed pods submerged in water that hadn’t begun to germinate. 

Unable to find the words to tell Cas he wanted him to come back to his room, Dean said goodnight and retreated down the hall.

It had been easier the night before when Cas clearly hadn’t wanted to be alone.  Now, without a reason, the idea seemed a little desperate.  A little too revealing.  Besides, Cas probably wouldn’t know what to make of it if Dean told him how much he wanted Cas to be the last thing he saw at night.  How Dean had dreamed about one day waking up to see those blue eyes first thing in the morning.  Not that Dean would have said any of that. He couldn’t.  

Still, he left his door open, just in case Cas decided to come on his own. 

The knock he heard twenty minutes later was clearly Sam’s and he strolled right in when Dean looked up from his book, softly closing the door behind him. 

“You got a minute?”

“Obviously.”  Dean swung his legs off the side of the bed, sitting up.  “What’s up?”

“I don’t mean to pry,” Sam started and god, that was exactly the kind of lead in Dean hated, “but what the hell are you doing with Cas?”

Sam crossed his arms, intent on getting answers.  Dean quickly tried to make his face unreadable, because,  _oh crap,_ Sam knew.

“Were you, uh, talking to Charlie?”

“No.  And don’t change the subject.  I know Cas was in here last night, Dean.  Or this morning at least.  When I got up, his door was closed, light off—you know he never does that.  I looked all over the bunker.  He had to be with you.”

“Yeah, so?” Dean pushed himself up off the bed.  He meant to sound combative, hoping to make it seem like Sam was the one at fault for flinging accusations at him, but his retort came out weak.  If he were interviewing himself he’d call bullshit, because he knew it reeked of guilt. 

“So, that’s like the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”

“Don’t forget who you’re talking to.”

“I’m serious, Dean.  And I’m not trying to pick on your relationship with Cas.  I’m really not,” Sam said carefully, the words coming out slightly rehearsed, like he had practiced this before and wanted to get it right.  The day could not get any weirder.  “But he hasn’t been able to say no to any of us yet and you think _now’s_ a good time to ask him to bed?”

“It, uh, it wasn’t like that, okay?” Dean said, curbing his own anger as he realized Sam was just being protective.  “Cas didn’t want to be alone.  No big deal.  Nothing happened.” 

“Oh.”  Sam rubbed at his arm, his confrontational attitude evaporating instantly.  “Well, good.  It just seemed like a bad idea given your… history and all the stuff Cas has been through lately.”

Dean tried to remember that Sam was just watching out for Cas, but hearing him call it a ‘bad idea’ rubbed him the wrong way. 

It felt like disapproval.

Sam studied his feet and then cast a glance around the room, carefully avoiding Dean as he searched for his next sentence.  Charlie’s insistence that Sam knew, rang loudly in Dean’s mind, leaving him floundering for something to say as well, but Sam beat him to it.

“I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt Cas on purpose, but I had to put in my two cents.  It just seems like the worst time for you two to be doing… that.”

“Really, Sam?  You had to?  Well, good thing it’s none of your business, anyway.”

“C’mon, Dean, don’t be like that.  You know what I mean.  And it is my business, ‘cause Cas is my friend too.”

“So, next time he doesn’t want to be alone at night, should I send him to sleep in your bed?”

Sam shuffled uncomfortably. 

“Well, no, that’s not—”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Will you shut up for a minute, Dean?  I’m not judging you, but you’re not exactly king of communication and Cas couldn’t even say no to playing chess with me last night.  So, forgive me for worrying you two might screw it up if you jump into _relationship_ stuff too fast.”

Color rose in Sam’s cheeks and Dean’s own flushed hot to match.

There it was.

Dean could always count on Sam to pick and pick at a sore point in an argument until he scratched at the true issue and tore the whole thing open. 

They couldn’t dance around the problem ambiguously anymore. 

“I’m not an idiot, Sam, okay?  I’m listening to Cas and we’re working on the no thing, but, like I said before, he’s the one who wanted company.  Not me.”

“Good.  As long as you two are talking and you understand that it’s a delicate situation. That’s all I was worried about.”

“Right, and this has nothing to do with the fact that it’s Cas?”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked slowly, eyebrows colliding in confusion.  “This whole thing is about Cas…”

Dean took a breath, stealing himself to say it. 

“And the fact that he’s a guy.”

At that, Sam’s eyes went wide and his mouth fell open briefly before he recovered.

“What?  No!  Christ, Dean, you’re not listening to me.  I don’t care that Cas is a guy.  Or that you,” Sam teetered for a moment, uncertain before committing, “like guys.  You really think I would?”

“Dad would’ve,” Dean said, blurting the first thing that popped into his head. 

“Fuck dad.  When have I ever agreed with him?”

Dean didn’t mean to lump Sam in with his dad, but all day he’d been waiting for someone to come along and tell him he was wrong.  That his feelings were unimportant or invalid or, at the very least, something he should be ashamed of.  After Charlie’s easy acceptance, railing against Sam for his borderline critical comments was just a knee-jerk reaction.

When Dean didn’t answer, Sam changed tactics, adopting a more concerned tone. 

“Did Dad say something to you?”

Dean shrugged a shoulder, not meeting Sam’s eyes.

“Nothing ’bout me specifically, but he would’ve if he knew,” Dean said, thinking of the different homophobic comments that had fallen from his Dad’s mouth over the years. 

“Well, he was wrong and a dick.  No one who cares about you is going to have a problem with it.  I certainly don’t.”

Dean knew Sam had his back in all things, but hearing that he had his support in this too, caught him off guard.  Sam said it with such finality, sure and unwavering.

“Wow, Sam.  You know, sometimes I forget you spent a couple years going to school in the most liberal state in the country,” Dean said, plastering a small smile on his face.  “Gotta say though, I thought you’d be more surprised.”

“Dean.  Your siren was a _dude_.”

“Oh yeah. Right.”

Maybe he was too obvious.  Embarrassed again, Dean rubbed at the back of his neck.

“So, you and Cas, huh?”

“It’s stupid, I know.  Like you said, bad idea, right?”

“Well, yes and no.  I think it’s too soon, but you care about Cas.  As long as you’re listening to him and doing what he wants, there’s nothing wrong with it.  Just keep talking to him.”

Dean nodded, feeling a little numb at what amounted to getting relationship advice from his little brother.  Especially when it involved Cas.  As the chick flick moment stretched on far too long for his liking, Dean found his voice again. 

“I, uh, I’m not trying to really start anything with Cas, anyway.  He was upset.  Sharing a bed was just me trying to be a friend.”

“But you want to be more than friends?”  Sam quietly asked for confirmation, voice full of concern and completely devoid of any judgement.

Dean rolled his eyes and sighed. 

“You know, I appreciate the support, Sammy, I really do, but I gotta pass on the girl talk.  This isn't a slumber party and I’ve had enough heart-to-hearts today to last me a couple months,” Dean said, walking around Sam and opening to door so his brother would take a hint.

“Okay, all right, I’m going.  Just, be careful moving forward.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Dean agreed, shutting the door on his brother before he could threaten him with bodily harm for hurting Cas.

A little stunned by the day’s events, Dean flopped onto his bed, trying to wrap his mind around all the new developments.

Charlie and Sam knew his secrets.  Kevin too, if he believed Charlie, which seemed wise since she’d been right about Sam.  And neither of them gave any indication they had a problem with him liking guys or even liking Cas for that matter.  Sam’s warnings checked out too, because if their positions were reversed Dean wouldn’t hesitate to kick Sam’s ass for doing anything that upset Cas. 

Still marveling at the fact that he was essentially ‘out’ now, it took Dean a while to notice how empty his bed felt. 

He got up to open the door, just in case.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features a lot of dialogue. Let me know if you have any trouble understanding the speakers. I try to avoid writing he said/she said when I think the speaker is still obvious and especially in 2 person conversations. 
> 
> Thanks so much for all your support and patience! I'm really going to try and be quicker with the next chapter.
> 
>  **3/19** Still writing... just fyi


	21. Chapter 21

Over the next few days, nothing changed.

Dean kept waiting for life to be different after talking to Sam and Charlie, but the bunker and its inhabitants remained unperturbed by the revelation that he was bi.

No one seemed to care and Dean felt grateful that he could just carry on like normal.

He made a point of setting Cas up with at least one ridiculous lie every day, preferably when they found themselves alone so he could squeeze Cas’s hand or give his shoulder a pat without an audience.  Most of the time Cas humored him. 

In the mornings when Sam went running, Cas usually joined him, climbing all the stairs just so he could sit outside for a little while. 

Dean brought him coffee one day, surprised to find Cas didn’t have a book or his journal with him to pass the time.  He was just sitting on a towel in the grass, gazing skyward, lost in thought. 

Dean dropped down next to him, squeezing close together on the towel to avoid the grass still wet with morning dew.  Next to him, Cas fidgeted, moving his leg agitatedly until he gave up being subtle and rolled his pant leg up to fuss with his cast more directly. 

Colorful doodles adorned the plaster and Dean smiled at them over his coffee cup. 

“That's some nice artwork you've got there.  I'm guessing Gollum and a gremlin and… who is this guy?” Dean pointed at the one character he couldn’t identify. 

“That’s Bilbo, Charlie drew him.  And this is Dobby.  Kevin’s work,” Cas said, indicating the creature Dean mistook for Gollum.

“Dobby?”

“Some kind of elf from Harry Potter.”

“Oh, but _this_ is a gremlin, right?”

“Sam said it was Yoda.  Is that a type of gremlin?”

“What? No!  And in what galaxy is that Yoda? Did Sam draw this in the dark?”

“There was adequate lighting,” Castiel mumbled distractedly, smacking at a section of the cast covering his shin.

Dean made a mental note that they needed to watch Star Wars as soon as possible.  All of them.  Not only for Castiel’s benefit, but also as a refresher for Sam, because Yoda did _not_ have teeth like that. 

Castiel shifted again, trying to find a wide enough gap at the start of his cast to cram a finger inside.  He’d finally ditched all but one of his finger splints the day before, frustrated with how they impeded the simplest of tasks and insisting he’d healed enough to no longer need the support.

“Itchy?”

“Yes.”  Castiel sighed.  “It’s driving me crazy this morning.  Do you think, if I got a stick or maybe a spoon, I could force it down the side?”

“Nah.  You don’t want to do that.  Couple years back I had a cast.  Lost a ruler and a pencil trying to scratch.  I don’t recommend it, but I think we’ve got a can of compressed air somewhere.  Couple shots down the side might help.  Maybe take a Benadryl if that doesn’t work.”

Cas decided he was too itchy to wait for Sam to return, so they went back inside together and Dean fixed him up with the items he mentioned. 

Afterwards they joined Kevin in the kitchen and Dean quickly managed to ruin the easy morning. 

As he pulled out boxes of cereal and Cas got them bowls, Dean mentioned that they had to go back to the clinic tomorrow to get his test results.  No part of him expected Cas to be glad about the information, but Dean had decided to tell him early since he wanted to give Cas some warning. 

He didn’t think Cas would sulkily skip out on breakfast and retreat to his room. 

Ignoring his instinct to go after Cas, Dean let him be, figuring he’d give him a little space and try again later. 

 

 

After a bit of unnecessary target practice in the shooting range, Dean felt better.  It’d been a while since their last hunt; he was starting to get restless and firing off a few rounds helped ease his frustrations.

Envisioning the assholes who hurt Cas each time he took aim helped too.

Dean had been thinking of what Cas had told him a few days ago, about another man kept captive and killed.  Cas had said very little about it and Dean didn’t want to press him with questions when he clearly didn’t like talking about it. 

There had never been another person like that in the videos Dean had watched, but it had him worried all the same.  If they abused at least two people, they could do it to a third. 

So, when he found Charlie alone in the library, Dean didn’t waste the opportunity.

“Hey, kiddo.  Any chance you’ve been back on that website recently?”

“You’re going to have to be a lot more specific than that,” Charlie said, turning in her seat to look at him. 

“The one with Cas.  Wanted to make sure there haven’t been any new videos posted.”

Dean stopped beside her, knocking his knuckles against the tabletop.

“ _New_ videos? But, I thought… didn’t you say you and Sam ‘took care of it?’”

“Yeah, we did.”

“Good, because I definitely remember you telling me on the phone, before you even brought Cas home, that you, you know,” Charlie lowered her voice, “ _killed_ those guys.”

“Right.  I did say that.”

Dean vaguely recalled the conversation.  They’d been in the car with Cas in the backseat.  He hadn’t wanted him to worry, so he padded the truth a little bit in case Cas was listening.  He probably hadn’t even heard Dean’s lie.

“So… what am I missing here?  How could there be new stuff?”

“Well, we took out everyone who was with Cas when we found him, but that was only four people.  And I only actually recognized one of them from the videos.”

“So some of the people involved are still alive?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh boy.  I did not see that coming.”

“I know.  And maybe I shouldn’t have lied to Cas about it, but I figured if it helped him sleep at night—”

“No, Dean, you don’t understand.  I believed you too,” Charlie said, turning back to her laptop, fingers flying over the keyboard as she talked.

“So?”

“So, I kind of use my hacking powers for good.  And I’ve been known to dabble in a sort of Bradbury brand of justice from time to time.”

“Meaning?”

“Plot twist.  I kind of, maybe, stole all the money those dicks made off of Cas.  I was waiting to tell him, so he could decide what to do with it.  At the time, it seemed like a good idea since Cas has no money and you guys have no money and I didn’t think anyone was going to miss it.”

“How much money are we talking? Like enough that I can stop buying all his clothes second hand?”

Charlie snorted. 

“Please, Dean, you saw the prices.  Paid some yourself.  More than 50 videos, 25 bucks a pop, plus people paid a lot to decide what happens… so it’s more like, it’s a shame Kevin’s not going to Princeton, ’cause we’ve got tuition money.  ‘Course he’d probably get a scholarship anyway,” Charlie said as she turned her laptop towards Dean and pointed to an impossibly large six-digit number.

Dean leaned in close, not believing what he saw. 

“Is this for real?”

“Yep.  Well, it’s in bitcoins, but the exchange rate’s really good right now.  The amount would be even higher.”

Dean gaped at the digits, trying to wrap his mind around the number. 

That much money couldn’t disappear without someone coming looking for it.

“Can they find you through this?”

“No, definitely not.  Even if they could, though, I figured we’d be in the clear since your bunker has like a forcefield around it or something.  Remember when I couldn’t even track you guys closer than 20 miles to this place?”

“Yeah,” Dean mumbled, trying to do some quick math and discretely using his fingers to help.

It still seemed like too much money. 

Charlie took her laptop back and pulled up the familiar website Dean had spent so many hours on.  Seeing it again made him his stomach flip unpleasantly.

“Doesn’t look like anything new has been posted.  No new uploads.”

“Good.  Can you set up one of those alerts that’ll tell you if there’ve been any changes?”

“Sure.”

At least they wouldn’t have to keep checking.

“So… do you want to tell Cas about it or should I?” Charlie wondered, attention still on her laptop.

“Tell Cas what?”  Sam’s voice came from behind them, and they both turned in his direction as he stepped up into the library with Kevin a few paces behind him.

“Turns out after we took out the trash in Vegas Charlie started working on a little project of her own.”

“Oh, did you keep track of the news feeds too?  I don’t think Cas needs to know about that, it’ll just make him nervous,” Sam advised, sitting on the edge of the table.

The statement meant nothing to Dean and a quick look to Charlie told him she get it either.

“What are you talking about, Sam? News feeds?”

“Just that the story never got picked up.  It was weird, I kept waiting to read something about it online.  Not only did it not make it to the media, I couldn’t even find a police report that matched up.”

“Well, how is that possible?” Dean wondered out loud.  It didn’t make sense.  A gun had been fired.  Surely some neighbor must have been around to hear it.  “You dropped a body in the driveway, Sam.  People tend to notice that sort of thing.”

Sam shrugged.  “Yeah, like I said, weird.  Figured the feds must have been involved.  It was a human trafficking thing, technically, and they handle those sorts of cases.  We know more than those four people were responsible, right?  If there are others it would explain why the FBI wouldn’t want the information reported.  They must have been planning on making other arrests.”

Dean didn’t like any of this.

“Um, guys,” Kevin sounded worried, “are you sure they were all dead?  What if one of them survived and just like cleaned everything up?”

“No,” Dean shook his head, glad to see Sam making a similar motion. “Not possible.  Everyone there was either dead or dying and nobody was in any shape to be cleaning up or hiding bodies.  I don’t know if the FBI played a part, but either way, it shouldn’t come back to us.  Well, as long as you’re sure they can’t trace the money you stole?”

“Positive,” Charlie answered, quiet but confident and Dean was glad they could be sure about one thing.

“Wait.”  Sam pushed hair out of his face.  “What money?”

“Didn’t you know Charlie’s like a digital age Robin Hood?”

It took a minute to get Sam and Kevin caught up on the stolen funds (“Wow, that’s a big number”) and several assurances from Charlie that she had definitely covered her tracks before they brought it back to Cas.

They quickly realized they were divided about what to do.  Sam didn’t want to tell Cas about any of it, worried the information would be too upsetting.  Kevin said he had a right to know.  Charlie thought the money should be brought up, but was less sure about revealing that some of the men who hurt him were still alive.  In the end, they all turned to Dean.

“We’ll tell him, but not right now.  Cas is already upset about having to go back to the clinic tomorrow.  Let’s see how that goes and then figure it out afterwards,” Dean proposed, all too aware that it was past lunch time and he hadn’t seen Cas since he disappeared to his room hours ago. 

No one argued with him.  Sam made a face like he wanted to, but nodded along with Dean’s decision anyway.

 

 

 

When Dean went to Castiel’s room he found him lying on his side in bed, staring at nothing.  Dean got the impression Cas might have been at it for a while since there were no books within reach and his headphones were still out in the library along with his laptop. 

Cas didn’t say much, but sat up at Dean’s suggestion they leave the room and silently followed him down the hall.  

After turning down Dean’s offer to make him a sandwich, Cas sat across from Kevin in the library and turned on his laptop.  Dean joined him, pulling up some Las Vegas news feeds on his own computer to see if Sam might have missed an article, unlikely as it was.

They wasted a couple hours that way, Cas barely speaking unless prompted and zoning out instead of actually doing anything online.  Dean finally decided he’d had enough. 

“Okay, food run.  Cas, you’re coming with.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You don’t have to be.  Food’s for later.  Shopping’s a two-person job now that they’re five of us and I hate pushing the cart.”

The excuse got Cas moving and, after Dean told the others to text if they needed anything specific, they went on their way.

Driving to the nearest grocery store did little to loosen Castiel’s lips, but Dean didn’t particularly mind him being silent.  Forcing people to talk wasn’t really his thing.  Dean figured as long as Cas didn’t completely shut down or shut people out that he could let him have a bad day without worrying about it.  Cas would talk when he was ready.

He followed Dean around the store, staying close and keeping his distance from the other customers, while Dean threw boxes of frozen burritos into the cart and compared bread prices.

On the car ride home Dean thought Cas might have been nodding off and he wondered if he’d been sleeping poorly.  Maybe walking all over the giant super market was too much for him.

 

 

Usually, if no one made anything special for dinner, they all kind of went scavenging separately through the kitchen.  Dean knew Cas didn’t like them waiting on him anymore, but he brought him a BLT sandwich all the same, not trusting Cas to help himself to leftovers after he went all day without eating.

It took him nearly an hour, but eventually Cas ate all of it, collecting both their plates and Kevin’s when he was finished.  He washed them slowly in the sink the way Dean had shown him. 

Afraid that Cas might retreat to his room again, Dean announced they should all watch a movie together.  

He took the opportunity to sandwich himself between Charlie and Cas on the couch again, hoping Star Wars would take Cas’s mind off whatever had him so distracted.  Or maybe Cas would be tired enough to fall asleep and get some rest.

Part of him wished they were alone in the room, because Dean kept second-guessing movements he wouldn’t have dwelled on before. Like whether or not he should stretch his arm along the back of the couch behind Cas.  Instead he laid his hand strategically between them, half hoping Cas might reach for it.  

Dean never considered the content of the movie he’d chosen. 

The action started right away with the Empire boarding a rebel ship, Stormtroopers firing their weapons as they took over.  Technically, it was violent, but the laser guns kept the scene free of blood and gore.  Cas shifted beside him, crossing his arms over his chest.  Barely five minutes into the movie Darth Vader strode on screen and proceeded to strangle a man with one large hand, lifting him effortlessly by the neck.

Cas jolted in his seat, half turning towards Dean, reaching blindly in his direction, not quite able to tear his eyes away from the TV.  One hand landed on Dean’s thigh, fingers curling into a fist as soon as he made contact.  The other one Dean caught in his own.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, Cas.  It’s all right, buddy,” Dean soothed as Cas’s eyes met his.

Cas leaned close and squeezed his hand harder than Dean would have thought possible for a guy with recently broken fingers. 

“Scene’s over now.”

Instead of risking a glance at the TV, Cas dropped his head and Dean brought a hand to his shoulder.  Ignoring the others, Dean’s world narrowed just to Cas leaning into his supporting hands.  He needed to make sure he was all right.

“I should have warned you, Cas.”

“I don’t, I don’t think I want to watch this.”

“Sure, whatever you want.”  Dean didn’t even bother trying to defend the movie.  He knew the violence didn’t end there, even if it was mild by comparison to other films.  “We’ll think of something else to watch.”

Shaking his head, Castiel pushed himself up from the couch and Dean was quick to follow. 

“I don’t feel like watching anything tonight.  Go ahead without me.”

“Cas.  Hold up.”  Dean followed him down the hall, not wanting to grab Cas in order to stop him. 

Outside of his bedroom, Cas hung his head so it nearly touched the door, pausing with his hand on the knob.

“I’m not in the mood to talk, Dean.”

“You want company?  I can shut up, grab a book or something?”

“N-not right now.  I’ll just… see you in the morning.”

“Okay, but I’m around, Cas.  You know, if you change your mind,” Dean offered as Castiel slipped into his room.  He acknowledged Dean’s gaze with tired eyes before pulling the door shut behind him. 

For several minutes, Dean stood still, weighing alternative sentences and additional arguments he might have made to sway Cas into letting him in. 

When he finally walked away Dean wondered if he made the right call.

 

 

 

 

Chlamydia.  Syphilis.  Gonorrhea.  Dean stood next to where Cas sat with a hand on his shoulder as they listened to the doctor going over his test results.  The positive diagnoses came as a huge relief to Dean, because that was the end of it.  The worst of it.  Everything Cas had was treatable and Dean felt like he could finally breathe easier.

He considered the antibiotic prescriptions and care instructions an easy price to pay to get Cas’s physical health on track. 

Cas, on the other hand, didn’t seem relieved.  Maintaining a stoic face, he listened to the doctor, giving little to no reaction as she explained his results and detailed how long he could expect to take the various medicines. 

“This is good news, Cas.  Couple more weeks of pills and you’ll be golden,” Dean said, sliding his hand down Cas’s back, certain he would come around once the doctor’s words sunk in. 

He got no response. 

Nothing could ruin Dean’s good mood though.  Not even the doctor handing him a few pamphlets at the end about safe sex and emphasizing that they had to wait until Cas made it through his antibiotics before having any ‘relations.’  Dean congratulated himself on only doing a slight double-take as she continued unperturbed, suggesting he should get tested too, to be on the safe side. 

Fortunately, Cas didn’t seem to be paying attention and Dean hesitantly agreed, too caught off guard to bother correcting her. 

When they walked back into the waiting room, Charlie tossed the magazine she was reading aside and popped up to greet them.  

“Oh, thank god.  My brain was rotting reading tabloid gossip.”

“Well, breathe easy, we’re good to go.”  Dean smiled while Cas stared at the ground and Charlie looked curiously between them.

By the time they made it to the car, Cas still hadn’t said much of anything and Dean paused while unlocking his door, staring at him over the roof.

“You want to tell Charlie the verdict there, Cas? Or were you trying to maintain the suspense a while longer?”

“He doesn’t have to tell me.”  Charlie turned to Cas and gently touched his arm.  “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, Cas.  I’m just here for moral support.”

Cas sighed and answered while carefully avoiding making eye contact with either of them.

“It seems that I, I’ve contracted a number of diseases.”

“No, Cas. Not, not _that_ —I meant the good news.”

“Good news?”

“Yeah.”

Dean didn’t give him any more than that, wanting Cas to vocalize the truth on his own.  He needed to recognize the good with the bad, and modern medicine fixing what ails you definitely counted as good.

“Well… the doctor indicated that, with time and the correct antibiotics, the STDs should clear up,” Cas said, not sounding the least bit happy about it. 

Charlie more than made up for his lack of excitement.

“Really?” she asked hopefully and Dean grinned, nodding in response.  He felt another wave of relief wash over him as Charlie joined him in smiling.

“Cas, that’s fantastic news!”

She threw her arms around him, hugging Cas in a controlled manner that kept her obvious enthusiasm to a minimum.  Cas saw it coming and managed not to startle, but he looked down at the top of Charlie’s head with something like bewilderment on his face. 

Dean wished he had thought of hugging him.  For a second, he teetered on the verge of walking around the car and joining in the mini celebration, but Dean stayed put.  The moment had already passed.

It wasn’t until after they’d all climbed into the car, that Dean got an opportunity to feel like celebrating again.  Fifteen minutes into their drive home, when Dean had cycled through every station he could tune-in without static and still came up with nothing but talk and country music, he’d shoved in a reliable cassette and returned his hand to his thigh only to feel Cas’s fingers brush over his own. 

Dean didn’t jump. 

A quick glance revealed Cas was looking tentatively back at him and Dean hastened to take proper hold of his hand, not caring if Charlie noticed. 

The whole time on the way to the clinic Dean had wanted to reassure a nervous Cas and that had meant stretching his arm between them, palm up on the seat, in an obvious, but silent invitation that had been ignored.  Why Cas was deciding to try it out now, Dean didn’t know, but he had no objections.

He fought to keep a smile off his face as he drove.

 

Back at the bunker, Dean positioned himself close to Cas as he relayed his results to Sam and Kevin.  They both were pleased by the news, but neither of them tried to hug Cas and Dean had to be content with simply patting him on the back before he went to the kitchen to cook.

He had wanted to make a special dinner for Cas on the off chance they’d get to celebrate favorable test results and the outcome had been even better than he could have hoped.  Dean had bought ingredients for comfort food to be on the safe side, in case the news had gone the other way.    

He was still marveling at their good fortune when Sam ambled in and paused at the counter to observe while Dean checked on the not boiling pot of water on the stove and turned up the heat.

“Cas finally caught a break, huh?”

“Yeah, we were overdue for a win.”

“Fettuccini?”  Sam asked picking up the box of pasta Dean had purchased the day before.

“Seemed like a better option than Angel Hair.”

“Uh huh.”  Sam eyed the ingredients spread across the counter before he noticed Dean’s open laptop down the end.  “Are you making… fettuccini alfredo?”

“Yup.”

“That’s ambitious.  And fattening.”

“Recipe’s a piece of cake.” 

Dean had never made it before, but he had a lot of free time recently and he’d found himself on a few food blogs, which had led to watching a few cooking shows.  He’d been meaning to expand his kitchen know-how and get a few new meals under his belt.  It wasn’t like his burger making skills could be improved any further.

“And don’t worry, I’m making it with some chicken and broccoli.”  Dean gestured to the pan of chicken he’d just started grilling and the cutting board full of florets.

“Adding vegetables doesn’t make the sauce any healthier.  You know that, right?  You’d have to cut _that_ out for starters,” Sam said, pointing to the carton of heavy cream.  “Bet you could find recipes for lighter versions of this same sauce.”

Shaking his head, Dean set down the tongs he’d just picked up and wiped his hands on a dish towel. 

“Have you seen Cas recently, Sam?  Hmmm?  Until further notice, he gets the full-fat versions of everything, okay?  If this dinner doesn’t work for your low-fat, gluten-free, no carb, soy milk, all the vitamins and none of the flavor lifestyle, then you can eat your way through the head of lettuce that’s hogging my valuable fridge space, ‘cause this is what I’m making.”

“All right, I get it.  I’ll get out of your hair.  Unless…” Sam paused mid-step, turning back to Dean once again, “…you need a hand?  Or an apron?”

“If you don’t get out of my kitchen I’m gonna dump some of this in the blender and make you drink your dinner.”

Dean turned his attention back to the stove once Sam left, determined not to overcook the chicken or leave the pasta boiling too long.  He wanted everything to be perfect.

Facing the stove and completely occupied with his task, Dean didn’t realize that Cas had walked in until he spoke.

“Smells good.”

Dean snapped his head up, turning towards Cas in surprise.

“Yeah?  You hungry?”

Castiel watched as Dean stirred the alfredo sauce, tilting his head to the side in consideration, but not actually answering Dean’s question.

“Do you need any help?

“Nah, it’s almost ready.  You want a taste?”

Dean held out the long wooden spoon expecting him to take it, but Cas’s fingers merely brushed his as he helped hold the handle steady and tipped the sauce covered spoon to his lips. 

“Mm. Hot.”

“Uh, yeah.”  That was one word for it.  “It’s better with food.”

Setting the spoon aside, Dean forced his eyes back to the pots and pans trying to remember what the hell he was supposed to be doing. 

He could hear Cas puttering around behind him, taking a stack of plates from the shelf to the table and then returning to pick through the silverware. 

Dean shook his head in an attempt to physically rid himself of the idea of kissing Cas.  It’d been getting harder to squash such thoughts.  Ever since Cas had started feeling better and leaving his room more regularly, Dean struggled with these pathetic little fantasies.  Thoughts of holding Cas and kissing him or stroking his hair now popped into his head with alarming regularity.  It had to be Castiel’s constant presence. 

For all the years they’d known each other, it had never been like _this_.  With Cas in his space, living at the bunker.  Now they were always together and having Cas beside him as he drove, across from him sleepily drinking coffee in the morning, or, hell, even going grocery shopping, it was different and disturbingly domestic.  It was all so human.  _Cas_ was human and Dean found himself wanting a lot more desperately than he had before.

Good thing there were three other people living with them.  Dean needed buffers.  Distractions.  Anything to keep him from saying or doing something he couldn’t take back. 

Food helped too, because once they were all gathered around the kitchen table, Dean could stuff his face and let the others dominate conversation while he definitely didn’t sneak looks at Cas. 

Tonight was no different.

Eating meals with his friends and his brother, meals that he had prepared, felt damn satisfying.  Still the best part, the part that nearly had him beaming, was when Cas finished his serving of creamy pasta and added another small helping to his plate without anyone suggesting it.  Less than 12 hours ago Dean had watched him struggle to make it through the world’s smallest bowl of cereal and now he was working his way through seconds.  

 

After dinner found him alone with Cas on the couch again, the others having hung back to do the cleanup.  Dean quickly found a nature program to put on, something about oceans and marine life. 

Ever since the incident with Star Wars Dean had considered and dismissed dozens of his favorite films.  Every one he thought of either had sex scenes or violence.  Fish seemed a lot safer, but after a few minutes Cas leaned over his knees, dropping his face into his hands.

“Cas? You okay?”

Dean cautiously set a hand on his back, inching closer when Cas spoke through his fingers.

“I’m so tired.”

“You want to call it a night?”

“Doesn’t make a difference.  I won’t be able to sleep anyway,” Cas said, rubbing his eyes as he sat up straighter and Dean slid his hand back to the safety of the couch.  “I’m tired of being tired and sick and hurt and,” he shook his head, “I’m just tired.  It feels like I’m moving backwards.”

“How do you mean?”

“I was supposed to be getting better and now, now I’m sick again.  Infected with diseases.  That’s not improvement.”

“Well, yeah, but it didn’t just happen, Cas.  You’re _still_ sick.  Now we just know what you have.  And the doc said that the antibiotic stuff you were taking for your pneumonia could have already helped with one of the STDs.  So maybe you skidded sideways a little, but you definitely didn’t reverse.”

Cas closed his eyes and sank back into the cushion, the top of his head brushing where Dean’s outstretched arm was draped along the back of the couch.   Dean studied his profile.  The dark lashes and dark circles.  Two days worth of scruff clinging to the delicate curve of his jaw. 

Cause Dean knew things like that now. 

He knew how often Cas shaved and how he took his coffee.  How he still preferred cutting his food into small pieces and keeping his back to the wall.

Dean wanted to tell him that he dodged a bullet today.  He needed to tell him about the money Charlie stole.  That the people who hurt him weren’t all dead.

“You get any sleep last night?”

“A little.”

“All right, c’mon.  Let’s go,” Dean said clicking off the television and tossing the remote towards the other end of the couch.  Cas didn’t need more bad news hanging over his head right now. 

“Go?  Where?”

“Your room.” Dean stood up. “Or mine, doesn’t matter.  We can watch on my laptop.  You look like you’re about to pass out anyway.”

Cas blinked up at him, but took Dean’s hand when he offered it a moment later and pulled him to his feet.

The other stuff could wait. Cas deserved a couple nights of sleep without some new worry keeping him up.

They ended up in Dean’s room again, sitting closer on the bed than last time so they could both see the laptop balanced across Dean’s thighs.

With Cas’s shoulder resting against his own, Dean kept unnaturally still, all too aware of the contact between their arms.  He kept his eyes laser focused on the screen without absorbing anything happening.     

More than ten minutes crept by and Dean had very nearly talked himself into risking a glance to his right when Cas moved, his head nodding forward. 

“Cas? You asleep?”

Cas’s even breathing was his only answer and Dean indulged in staring uninterrupted again.   

When the show they were watching ended, he carefully set the laptop on his nightstand, doing his best not to disturb Cas.

It was entirely too early to be going to sleep, but Dean didn’t even care.  As he shifted to get comfortable Cas’s head slid from his pillow to Dean’s shoulder and Dean thought he might never want to move again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you thought I was dead. No such luck, my friends. I'm still alive and kicking and writing the world's slowest updating destiel fic. 
> 
> Apologies for leaving you hanging for so long. I don't know why the words aren't coming as easily, but that's what's holding me up. That and Life™ 
> 
> I have the best intentions moving forward, but I'm not going to make promises about the next chapter being quick, because I'm pretty sure I said that last time and jinxed myself because it took longer than ever. 
> 
> So I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Welcome new readers! And thank you all for your patience, comments, and kudos. <3
> 
> [My tumblr](http://rosewhipped22.tumblr.com) if you want to be pals
> 
> 7/20 UPDATE: I haven't abandoned you or the fic :p It's still happening. Just a slow WIP


	22. Chapter 22

Castiel startled awake with a gasp, expecting a menacing figure above him in the dark, but he only saw white ceiling and soft yellow light.

A dream. 

It was only a bad dream. 

The last horrible moments of it clung to his consciousness, making his heart pound wildly in his chest. 

He could never escape in his dreams. Couldn’t get away. His desperation to break free was never enough. He brought a shaking hand to his face, briefly covering his eyes and then his mouth trying to be quiet and calm.  He’d gotten good at controlling his reactions, swallowing his sobs.  Anything to draw less attention to himself. 

Castiel sniffed and took a few purposeful breaths as he pushed hair off his forehead.  His skin felt clammy to the touch and he shivered even though he was still wearing his hoodie over his other shirts.

Even with the light on it took him a minute to convince himself he was really there.  _Actually_ there.  Safe.  In the bunker.  

He froze as movement jostled the bed. 

Someone shifting beside him.  

No, no, no.

The dream was over!

He should be alone.

Castiel kept absolutely still, alert for any indication of the mattress dipping as someone moved closer to him or the sound of another person’s breathing, but he couldn’t hear anything over the panicked thoughts racing through his head. 

It’d be easy to slip from the bed. 

He wasn’t under the blankets. 

He could do it quietly. 

Maybe he could find a weapon or make it to the door. 

Carefully unwinding his arms from where he’d protectively covered his chest, Castiel looked around, searching for the exit, and he finally _saw_ the room.

A record player.  

A tidy desk that wasn’t his.  

Dean’s shirt draped over the back of a chair. 

 _Dean’s_. 

He was in Dean’s room!

Memories from the day before came trickling back and Castiel summoned enough courage to risk looking back over his shoulder to confirm who was beside him.

The sight of Dean on his back, peacefully asleep with his head tilted in Castiel’s direction, a small pout gracing his lips, had Cas immediately rolling over.  Dean meant safety and without thinking Castiel pressed his forehead to Dean’s arm, just where the sleeve of his t-shirt ended so his nose was flush with bare freckled skin.

He took a few steadying breaths, inhaling the calming scent of Dean and trying to match the slow rumbling snores he could make out from such a close distance.  Warmth radiated from Dean, helping to convince Castiel that the moment was real.  That he was safe.  He toyed with the idea of taking Dean’s hand in his own to ground him further in the present.

He wasn’t used to having someone with him.  He always woke up from his nightmares alone and when he hadn’t been alone, he’d wished he was, but Dean didn’t present a threat.

Cas skimmed his fingers down Dean’s bare arm, touch dancing over the warm skin until he tentatively brushed along the back of his hand.  He sought out Dean’s pulse point, curling fingers around his wrist until he found it.  The even beat jumping up to meet Cas’s touch, persistent and alive and so very real.

“Wha—Cas?” Dean’s groggy voice broke the quiet and he half lifted his head from the pillow, shielding his face from the light and blinking at Castiel.

He hadn’t meant to wake Dean up.  Castiel guiltily released his wrist and started to pull away. 

The confusion on Dean’s face quickly cleared as he shed the last remnants of sleep and concern took over.  He rolled more onto his side and propped himself up.

“Cas?  You okay, man?  What’s wrong?” Dean reached for Castiel’s elbow, not pulling him or grabbing him, just a hand resting on his arm and waiting.

Even that gentle touch felt a little constraining though and when Castiel shifted uncomfortably, Dean pulled his hand back. 

“You’re looking kind of freaked for,” Dean squinted at his watch, “three in the morning. How you feeling?”

“Scared,” Castiel admitted, staring down at the small amount of space between them.  He kind of wanted to close the distance and move away at the same time. 

“Nightmare?”

“How’d you know?”

“I’ve had my fair share.”  Dean dropped back onto his pillow, tucking an arm underneath his head as he got comfortable.  “You have them a lot?”

“More than I’d like.”

Dean pressed his lips together, considering him thoughtfully and Castiel hoped he wasn’t going to ask for details.  He didn’t want to talk about how badly the dreams upset him.  How disturbingly real they were and how devastatingly alone and afraid he felt even after he woke up.  It embarrassed him and Castiel doubted he’d be able to find the right words to make Dean understand. 

Sleeping at all had been hard enough to get used to all those months ago when he first became human. He’d always been in a strange bed or an uncomfortable corner of a makeshift shelter.  Right from the start he’d had restless nights filled with strange dreams, but most of those had been more unsettling and bizarre than anything else.  His mind jumbling all his new human sensations and twisting them up with impossible memories of his past that didn’t make sense together. 

“You, uh, want to talk about it?”

Castiel barely shook his head ‘no,’ but Dean was watching him closely enough not to miss it.

“Yeah, nightmares always suck.  I remember, after you yanked me outta the pit, I had them for a while.  Not forever.  They should pass with time.  Then, if you’re lucky, the good dreams will start to out-weigh the bad.”

“What happens in good dreams?” 

Castiel couldn’t remember ever having one.

“Uhm, nice memories, I guess.  And things you like.”  Dean hesitated a moment.  “People you like.”

“Like Sam,” Castiel supplied knowingly and to his surprise Dean rolled his eyes as he smiled.

“Yeah, Sam pops into them now and again, but, uh, so do you.”

“Me?”

Castiel guiltily recalled his most recent dream involving Dean and how he’d been forced to kill duplicates of him again.  This time the copies weren’t copies though, and when Naomi had him strapped down, the demons she let in to hurt him were just humans wearing masks.

“Yeah, you, dumbass.”

“Oh.”  That didn’t seem quite right.  Castiel played a little with the drawstring on his hoodie, thinking it over.  “Not recently though?”

“’S not like I keep track.  Sam’s more the dream diary type.”

That made more sense.  Dean wouldn’t dream about him the way he was now. 

“I guess you won’t anymore.”

“Won’t what?”

“Dream about me,” Castiel explained, but Dean just raised his eyebrows waiting for him to elaborate.  “I’m not an angel anymore, there’d be no point to—”

“Don’t try to tell me how I ought to dream, Cas, because I gotta tell you, grace and wings never even factor into it.  It’s just you.”  Dean hesitated, the conviction in his eyes melting into something less certain, but he didn’t look away.  “You being friggin’ happy for a change.”   

Warmth bubbled in Castiel’s chest at Dean’s kind words while doubt twisted in his gut, insisting the thought wasn’t true.  That it couldn’t be right.  Castiel failed to force a response past the sudden tightness in his throat, but he had no idea what he would’ve said anyway.   He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve someone like Dean giving a damn about him, didn’t think he actually did.  He bit his lip, daring to look again into those beautiful green eyes and wishing he was worth even a fraction of the concern he saw there.

“And, I know the halo and the harp and the flashing lights were kind of a package deal, but it wasn’t who you are.  Just bits and pieces.  Like if I lost an arm and the ability to hit a stationary target from five feet away, you’d still hang around my sorry ass, right?”

“Of course,” Castiel agreed despite the clumsy metaphor, blinking profusely and wishing they could change topics.  “I have very little interest in marksmanship.”

“Sounds about right,” Dean huffed a small breath that wasn’t quite a chuckle and rubbed at one of his eyes with the back of his hand.  “Think you want to sleep some more? Or did the nightmare spoil it for you?”

The last thing Cas wanted to do was sleep, but if he was perfectly honest he didn’t want to leave and go back to his own room either.  He didn’t want to be alone and if he got up now, he’d have to wait a couple hours before Sam woke up.  Even if he couldn’t fall back asleep, staying with Dean was better than facing the silence of the bunker alone. 

“I could stay,” Castiel said hesitantly, hoping he wasn’t overextending his welcome.  He’d been so tired the night before, he suspected he’d just fallen asleep in Dean’s bed without an invitation to spend the night. 

“Yeah, stay.  I’ve got music we can listen to if that helps or, uh, maybe a book would be better?”

“I’d like that,” Castiel agreed, surprised that Dean would offer to read to him, but eager to listen to his voice. 

“I’ve got,” Dean flipped over to pick at items on his nightstand, “Charlie books.  _Neverwhere_ and _Stardust_.   Actually, I started this one… It’s a little dark.”

Dean set one of the books back down and turned back to Castiel with the one he’d decided upon, holding it out to him.  Giving a cursory glance at the cover, Cas nodded his approval for _Stardust_ , not particularly concerned with which book they read.

“So, you want this one?” Dean confirmed still holding it towards him.

“That’ll be fine.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, looking at the book and then at Castiel expectantly.  He didn’t know what Dean was waiting for.

“You don’t have to read that one,” Castiel said eventually, starting to worry that he misunderstood Dean’s offer, “if there’s another book you’d prefer…”

“Oh.  _Oh_.  You—okay, uh, yeah.  No, this one’s good. It’s, uh, it’s fine.”  Dean cleared his throat, focusing on the book in his hands like he only just realized he was holding it.  “So, I’ll just, yeah, start reading.”

He glanced at Castiel over the top of the book as he opened it and Cas gave him another encouraging nod.

“It’s been a long time since I read to somebody,” Dean mumbled as he fixed his pillow behind him and blushed.  “I might suck.  And I don’t do, like funny voices or anything.”

“That’s fine.  I like your voice,” Castiel said, hoping the comment would help Dean be less nervous, but he only looked more flustered, opening and closing his mouth before turning his attention back to the book and leafing through the first few pages.

“Okay, here we go.”

Dean started to read, a little haltingly at first, and still looking rather embarrassed.  Castiel found himself staring at Dean’s eyes tracking back and forth across the pages, his eyebrows knotting together when he went too quickly and stumbled over a word, the way his lips carefully formed each syllable. 

He tried not to watch Dean too closely, but it was hard when he was right there and when every bit of Dean helped shove thoughts of his nightmare further from his mind.  The sight and sound and scent of Dean surrounded him and Castiel wanted to stay in the safe sensory world of Dean as long as he could. 

It occurred to him that he could probably add to the experience if he’d only be brave enough to reach out and touch Dean.  They’d been doing that lately.  Touching.  Mainly Dean initiated the contact, but it was always soft and gentle and brief.  Sometimes entirely too brief.  Other times Castiel wanted nothing to do with it, but Dean seemed to watch him very carefully for a reaction, prepared to abandon the contact if he gave any indication of being uncomfortable. 

Like the hand holding.  That was entirely new to Castiel and at first, he hadn’t really liked it because even without a tight grip it had still been someone else holding on to him and that only stirred up negative associations, but Dean left it up to him, often placing his open hand close to Castiel’s and simply waiting. 

Having a choice made all the difference and when Castiel chose to link hands with Dean it felt good and calm and safe.  The way Dean rubbed his thumb over the back of Castiel’s knuckles was a comfort that made him wonder if you only held hands with people who were sick or upset and in need of consoling.  It seemed possible since Dean had never done this with him until recently.  If that was the case, he knew he’d miss it when Dean finally stopped. 

The initial hesitancy hidden in Dean’s voice faded away as he read on and Castiel felt a little guilty for not paying much attention to the actual story, but Dean was too distracting up close.  Castiel eyed Dean’s occupied hands, busy with turning pages and holding the book instead of him. 

Before he could talk himself out of it, Castiel reached across Dean’s arm and set a hand on his chest.  He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he hated the thought that their newfound intimacy had an expiration date and he wanted to hold onto it a little while longer. 

To his credit, Dean seemed to have only lost his place and he spent a few long seconds resolutely staring at the page before resuming again.   Castiel could feel Dean’s warmth under the soft cotton t-shirt, the slightest vibration in his chest as he spoke, and the murmur of his too quick heartbeat. 

With just a small space separating them, the awkward stretch of his arm made the position feel unnatural and Castiel flexed his hand on Dean’s chest, mussing his shirt slightly as he contemplated a retreat, second guessing his decision.  Even Dean seemed stiff and uncertain waiting for Cas to move closer or go back the way he came. 

It only took one more sentence before he closed the book and set it aside.

“Cas?  Is this your way of keeping me from rolling onto your side of the bed?  Because I think a couple of well-placed pillows would get the job done.  And, anyway, I’m not a big roller.  More of a stationary sleeper.  Makes it easier to find the gun under my pillow.”

“I wanted to hold your hand,” Cas said, slowly taking his own back, “But you had the book, so…”

“So, you invented that little reach move, huh?  I like it.  It’s got good potential, you just need to slide in a little closer for it to really be comfortable.  Like this, c’mere.”

Dean lifted his arm closest to Castiel and beckoned him forward with the other, like he was welcoming him into a one-armed hug and Castiel cautiously scooted closer, returning his hand to Dean’s chest in the process.  The position wasn’t ideal since it left his one arm trapped between them, but Castiel chose to ignore that for the moment.  As he laid his head against Dean he tried not to think about the arm Dean had curled around him and how easy it would be for him to tighten his grip or to shove Castiel onto his back and pin him down. 

“How’s that?” Dean asked as he placed his hand over Castiel’s and rubbed his thumb back and forth in a slow but deliberate pattern.

Castiel managed a nod before he hid his face in the softness of Dean’s shoulder, trying to collect himself enough to enjoy being so close. 

“Can you just talk?” Castiel asked, not wanting Dean’s hands to disappear.  “About anything?”  He needed a distraction.

“Yeah, sure.  Uh, how ’bout cars?”  Dean started with the Impala, easily talking about the car he loved so much before switching to a more generic focus and explaining how to change a tire.

The talking helped.  Castiel tried to listen to what Dean was saying, to pay enough attention so that his bad memories wouldn’t trample all over the current good happening.  Listening to Dean made a big difference.  Hearing his voice, calm and close, helped Castiel remember where he was and who he was with.  In the past, when he’d lost all memory of himself, Dean found him.  When he was broken, Dean still wanted his help.  Stuck in Purgatory, Dean had tried to pull him out.  Brainwashed and Dean had been the one to break through it.

Gradually, Castiel relaxed in Dean’s light and gentle hold, belatedly marveling at the fact that this was something Dean let him do and that he even seemed to like it too. 

The impromptu lesson, which had since moved onto spark plugs—whatever they were—mainly went over Castiel’s head.  Dean obviously knew cars well, could probably do the things he was describing blindfolded, but every now and then he’d say, “it makes more sense when you’re looking at it,” or, “I’ll have to show you what I’m talking about,” and Castiel found he liked the idea of Dean teaching him. 

“Think I need a glass of water,” Dean said eventually, clearing his throat and falling silent.  His voice had grown a little scratchy, but neither of them were ready to move just yet.

The room seemed oddly quiet after Dean reading and his rambling introduction to car care.

Dean's fingers fluttered over Castiel's side and he hoped they could do this again in the future.  With his head resting on Dean’s shoulder, Castiel marveled at how easily they fit together.  Lying in Dean's arms felt right once he'd gotten used to the sensation.

Still, they couldn’t stay there forever and after a few more minutes Castiel lifted his head a little reluctantly and pulled away, both of them getting up out of the bed since neither could go back to sleep at this point. 

"Thank you for helping me calm down," Castiel said as he put his sneakers back on and Dean stretched on the opposite side of the bed. 

"’S’no big deal, Cas."

Dean stood by the door in his socks, waiting for him.                                                                                            

“It usually takes a lot longer when I’m alone,” Castiel confessed.

“So, don’t be alone next time,” Dean set a hand on Castiel’s shoulder as he joined him, “Come get me if you need to.”

They walked down the hallway together, not quite holding hands, but knuckles bumping together anyway since they were so close, and Castiel thought, maybe, he would. 

 

 

It started when Sam brought up tattoos.  Specifically, anti-possession tattoos.  His had been compromised a few months ago in the process of expelling Gadreel and he wanted to get a completely new one on his back, rather than take chances on repairing his existing one.

“You should both get one,” he said, looking pointedly between Castiel and Charlie.  “Just to be on the safe side.”

Castiel had wanted one.  Months ago.  He never had enough money to really consider while he was homeless.  The angel warding had cost him enough. 

“Don’t get it somewhere demons can see,” Kevin advised, in an irritated tone, holding up his arm and displaying his own tattoo near his wrist.  “Probably best to avoid limbs altogether.  If you’re smart.”

Any time Castiel thought about leaving the bunker and doing things, especially things that involved other people, it gave him pause.  Charlie, on the other hand, was on board with the idea almost immediately.  “Magic sigils that keep the bad guys at bay?  Sign me up!”

Castiel said nothing, sipping at his coffee while Charlie talked her way through the pros and cons of different tattoo placement possibilities.  He could feel Dean’s eyes on him, probably gauging his reaction to the idea, but Castiel just stared into his mug, undecided.

Initially, he thought the bunker might be protection enough.  He tried to fool himself into thinking that hiding inside was a viable option for the foreseeable future.  That he could put off getting a tattoo simply because even the thought of baring his skin to a stranger made him uncomfortable. 

But hiding wasn't sustainable.  For one, Dean wouldn't let him.  As much as Dean indulged Castiel since he’d gotten back to the bunker, he still pushed him.  When they spent a few days watching an entire season of Mythbusters together on the couch, Castiel zoning out more often than he meant to, but generally appreciating the company and the premise of the show, Dean still made sure he found occasional excuses to leave the bunker and he always wanted Cas to go with him.  Castiel usually said yes.

He didn’t mind the driving, in fact, it was his favorite part about leaving the bunker, because he could be out in the world but still closed off from the people they drove by.  Fulfilling the role of protective bubble, the Impala shielded him from danger with fast wheels and a trunk full of weapons, not to mention Dean in the front seat, always ready to open fire on any evil they might run into.  Castiel wondered if Dean had ever thought of it that way, but just like the bunker, the car was only an illusion of safety.  Inevitably they always got to the gas station or the grocery store or whatever place they were going and Castiel had to exit the comforting cocoon of metal and leather and interact with the world again. 

It was on one such trip that he didn’t particularly want to be on that Castiel considered Sam’s tattoo suggestion again, the thought springing into his mind when he wished the protection of the car could follow him wherever he went.  An anti-possession tattoo offered _some_ level of protection and the abrupt realization of the consequences of _not_ getting one changed Castiel’s mind. 

Not having one meant risking his autonomy again, it made being possessed a real threat.  To not have control of his own body again was the single most terrifying thing he could imagine and Castiel had no small amount of terrifying experiences to draw from. 

He quickly informed Sam that, yes, he would very much like to get one, as soon as possible. 

They made an appointment for the day after Castiel would finally be through with his antibiotics.  The date loomed ahead of him, concrete and intimidating and approaching much too quickly for Castiel’s liking.  When it finally arrived and Castiel was in the back of the Impala with Charlie, the Winchesters in the front, he only felt more nervous. 

Another dream had woken him up too early, sending him restless into the hall.  He walked past Dean’s door five times before heading to the kitchen resigned to practicing his breathing techniques.  In his dream, he was getting a tattoo, but he hadn’t been able to keep still and Trav, one of the men who’d hurt him, had been there, forcibly tying him down and reaching for sharp objects.  Castiel cringed at the memory.  Telling himself for what felt like the hundredth time that nothing like that would happen.

“You want to do the honors, Cas?  Pick the driving music?” Dean asked from the front, holding up a battered box that Castiel knew was full of cassette tapes and giving it a little shake for emphasis. 

“Nope. Nuh uh,” Sam said as he took the box from him, the contents rattling as he put it back on the floor by his feet.

“Charlie brought her iPod.” Sam stretched his long arm back, holding out his hand so Charlie could hand the device to him.  “No more ancient rock.  You’re out voted.”

“Classic rock,” Dean grumbled, but didn’t argue as Sam fiddled with the console to get it set up and Charlie made song suggestions. 

The music that finally poured from the speakers brought melodic piano and soft feminine vocals.  Cas watched Dean roll his eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Is this the sort of stuff you’ve got Cas listening to?”

“I went with instrumental stuff,” Charlie said, bobbing her head in a nod, “but I bet he’d like this album too.”

“That’s it.  I’m making you a playlist, Cas.  Charlie doesn’t get to be the only one influencing your musical tastes.”

Dean’s eyes flicked to the mirror again, making sure that Castiel had heard him.  He held Dean’s gaze for a moment in acknowledgement. 

Occasionally they talked around him if Cas wasn’t in the mood to participate and he certainly didn’t mind, preferred it at times, but Dean always seemed to be more focused on him when he was quiet.  Castiel often caught him watching.  The attention made him uncomfortable at first, but he was learning it was concern and not judgement from Dean.

While the others talked music, Castiel let his mind wander, unconcerned with singers and bands he had no knowledge of or interest in.

Castiel dug into the pocket of his hoodie, cradling the mp3 player he’d brought along at Charlie’s suggestion and thumbing along the familiar buttons.  It was a precaution, just in case he needed help calming down while getting the tattoo.  At the moment Castiel doubted it would work.  The crackling static in his ears was back, making him extra restless and on edge.  He felt like he could vibrate right out of his skin.

Castiel squirmed in his seat, vastly uncomfortable, irritated by everything, even things he used to enjoy, like the air blowing through the open windows.  They were going too fast.  The whipping gusts too loud on top of the rumbling engine and the music and chatter.  It was all just noise he couldn’t make sense of.  When he closed his eyes in an attempt to block everything out, he realized a small, hard something was poking him annoyingly in the back.

Reaching behind him, Castiel fished the offending object from where it was half buried between the seat cushions and found himself staring at a pair of metal handcuffs. 

He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry and stomach churning unpleasantly at the sight of them.  They looked familiar, but that didn’t really mean anything. 

All handcuffs probably looked the same. 

These could belong to the Winchesters, though they kept such supplies in the trunk.

Sunlight bounced off the metal and Castiel noticed what was unmistakably dried blood clinging to the inside rim of the cuffs. 

It could be his blood.

“Dean.”  It came out a whisper.

He was going to be sick.

“Dean,” Castiel spoke more loudly.  “Pull over.  Now.”

“Cas?”

“What’s wrong?”

Someone touched his arm and Castiel yanked it away, tightening his hold on the handcuffs and scrabbling at the door with his free hand.

The car slowed as Castiel cracked the door open, desperate to get out, the voices behind him indistinguishable.  He glimpsed a sliver of asphalt and gravel rolling by before another hand fell on his shoulder, much stronger this time, stopping him from falling out the door while the car was still moving.  It finally lurched to a stop and he pushed forward, tumbling from the seat to his knees and immediately vomiting.

With one hand on the door to steady himself, Castiel spat on the ground to clear the taste from his mouth.   He stayed kneeling on the hot, rough road trying to stop the tremors shaking through his arms and legs.  The fear that had overcome him so abruptly at the realization the handcuffs were the same ones that had been used to keep him captive slowly dissipated and he saw familiar boots standing a little way away.

Dean crouched down beside him.

"You okay, Cas?"

"Yeah, just car sick."

Not wanting to explain himself Castiel stuffed the handcuffs into his pocket and allowed Dean to help pull him to his feet.  Sam stepped forward ready to offer another hand if he needed it, but Castiel just held onto the door feeling a little too wobbly to let it go.

"Why don't you sit up front?" Sam suggested and Dean agreed, leading him to the other open door so he could take Sam's place.

Charlie leaned forward as he sat down, handing him a bottle of water over the seat so he could rinse his mouth and spit before pulling the door closed.

"You want to reschedule or do you still feel up to going?" Dean asked a minute later when they were all in the car. 

"We should go.  I’m okay," Castiel insisted, embarrassed about causing a scene.

“It’s cool if you change your mind,” Dean said as he started the car and pulled back onto the road.  “You can always just watch them get their tattoos done and come back later.” 

“Yeah, Cas.  Dean’s so glad you managed to puke in the street and not his car, he’ll agree with whatever you want right about now,” Sam said.  “But, really, if you do feel sick again, try not to climb out while we’re still moving.”

“I’ll remember that.”  Castiel leaned over his knees, rubbing at his eyes.  He did want to continue, but he felt even worse than when they first left.

Reaching across the seat, Dean set a hand on his back, gently rubbing a tiny circle briefly between Castiel’s shoulder blades.  The touch caught him a bit off guard, but when it was over Castiel grabbed Dean’s retreating hand, wanting the familiar weight of it in his own.  Dean seemed to want that too, because he drove the rest of the way with just one hand on the wheel.

The tattoo shop was a small place off a busy main road with a neon sign and a tiny unpaved lot.

No one was inside when they walked in, but a little bell above the door chimed announcing their arrival and a moment later a short woman with blue hair and dark eye makeup appeared to greet them.  She recognized Sam right away, smiling at him across the counter before she made her way around it and introduced herself to the rest of them as Nina.

“So, we’ve got _three_ appointments today, right?” She asked looking between the four of them. 

“Oh, yeah.  Dean,” Sam jerked his thumb towards his brother, “he’s just here to watch.  It’ll be the three of us.”

“Great.  Well, Jarell is just finishing getting set up back there, but we can get two of you in chairs and get started in a few minutes.  Who wants to go first?”

“I’m ready,” Charlie said with a tiny wave of her hand and Castiel was grateful that unlike the Winchesters she didn’t immediately look to him for a reaction.

“You go ahead, Sam. I’ll go last,” Castiel said, not quite feeling up to it yet.  He was grateful there were only two people available to get the work done.  It gave him more time to mentally prepare.

Nina led them all into the next room which was larger and brightly lit with a few oversized, comfy-looking black chairs situated at different workstations.  Artwork adorned the walls, drawings and pictures of tattoos in dozens of different designs, some a few simple lines and others exceedingly elaborate in detail. 

Castiel admired a series of progress pictures of a dragon on a man’s shoulder, complete with wings curling onto his chest and back, while Sam and Dean carefully looked over the stencils Nina had created for their approval. 

After introducing them all to the other tattoo artist, Jarell, she directed Sam and Charlie towards the two closest chairs and things got started. 

Sam frowned a bit seeing that Charlie had managed to strike up conversation with Nina and that somehow that had translated into sitting at her work-space too.  He took it in stride, unabashedly discarding his layers and discussing placement with Jarell.

Even from a distance Castiel could make out a few scattered scars on Sam, but most were faded and otherwise his skin was unblemished.  No bruising.  No half-healed cuts.  Castiel wondered what his chest looked like now and almost wished he had checked recently so he knew what to expect.  What everyone else would see. 

He fiddled with the zipper on his hoodie and toyed with the idea of checking in the bathroom.

Dean nudged him with his elbow and nodded down at the binder of tattoo ideas he’d been flipping through, briefly balancing the spine in one hand so he could point at a set of symbols.

“How ‘bout this?”

Castiel peered at the first one.  It was reminiscent of a sigil, but he didn’t actually recognize it. 

“Is it for protection?”

“No, dude.  Jimmy Page?”  Castiel shook his head and Dean’s eyes grew comically large.  “Led Zeppelin?  The Fourth Album?”

“Am I supposed to know about this?”

“Yes!” Dean insisted at the same time Charlie and Sam both yelled, “No!”

“Everyone should know it,” Dean grumbled to himself, low enough Castiel barely heard it.  He flipped a few laminated pages before snapping the binder closed.  “You get a pass,” he said seriously to Cas, “because you’re new.  Uh, new to music education,” he added with a cautious glance towards Charlie and Nina, who were both smiling as Nina leaned over Charlie’s side, working steadily.

“And Sam, well, he’s been a lost cause for years.  Maybe there could be hope for Charlie if she’d commit to the classics.”

“Not going to happen,” Charlie called and Dean rolled his eyes and sighed, shaking his head like she’d personally offended him.

“So… are you actually getting a tattoo?” Castiel wondered, looking again at the design Dean had pointed out.  He still didn’t understand what it had to do with Led Zeppelin.

“Nah, well, not today.  I think about it once in a while.  You wanna look?"  Dean held out the binder and Castiel took it, turning the pages one by one as he meandered around the room. 

He had never thought about the types of tattoos people might get. The variety was staggering.  None seemed to be for protective purposes, like the ones they were there to get, but he found the art involving animals and nature appealed to him the most, things like patterned flowers and intricate trees. 

When he finished with the binder Castiel turned his attention to Sam, watching his tattoo slowly form.  Neither he nor Charlie seemed disturbed by the procedure and Castiel tried to remember how well it had gone when he’d gotten his own tattoo so many months ago.  But he hadn’t been scared to remove his shirt for that.  He didn’t have any shameful marks to hide then. 

Dean kept trying to distract him while they both sat in two out of the way waiting chairs.

He’d flip through a magazine and then pass it off to Castiel pointing out any articles he thought might interest him.  When Nina and Charlie took a short break, Dean tried to talk him into going to the convenience store nearby, but Castiel already felt like he was doing too much.  He wanted to stay focused on what was coming. 

Eventually Castiel worked up the neve to unzip his hoodie, slowly pushing out of the sleeves one at a time and then bundling it awkwardly in his lap.  Without it he only had a long-sleeved, button-up shirt on and it already felt wrong.  Normally he’d be wearing another layer underneath, but he’d chosen this shirt specifically, hoping he could just unbutton it to get his tattoo done instead of removing the whole thing the way Sam had with his shirt. 

He sighed and rubbed nervously at his arm.  He really should have practiced wearing fewer layers at the bunker.

Charlie and Nina finished up first and Castiel felt a little relieved that he would likely be working with Nina and not Jarell.  He glanced guiltily at the man.  Jarell looked friendly enough, but he was taller than Castiel and clearly spent time at the gym. 

Castiel didn’t want to hold still for him.  He didn’t want to remove his shirt and let him crowd into his space. 

Nina was much smaller, but when she held up a mirror to help Charlie see the completed tattoo, Castiel still covered his eyes with his hand.  It was nearly his turn. 

“You feel sick again?” Dean asked from beside him and Castiel slid his hand down from his eyes to cover his mouth, shaking his head no.  “Here,” Dean took his hoodie from where Castiel had been clutching it to his chest.  With nothing in his lap to curl himself around, Castiel sat up straighter and noticed his leg rapidly bouncing.  He made an effort to stop the restless movement and when Dean offered him headphones a moment later, Castiel eagerly put them on.

The few minutes of soothing music helped a little bit.  With Dean by his side Castiel felt confident enough to close his eyes, blocking everything else out in an attempt to focus on the familiar songs.     

It wouldn’t be as bad as the STD testing at the clinic.  It couldn’t be.

“Cas?” Dean touched his knee to get his attention.  “You good?  Nina’s ready for you.”

“Yes,” Castiel answered, sounding braver than he felt.

No one seemed to know if they should be looking at him or not, but Castiel was too busy getting one foot in front of the other and robotically maneuvering himself into the waiting chair to even notice. 

Next to him, Nina spoke kindly, smiling often and starting to explain things without him asking.  He decided Sam must have told her to be nice to him. 

Castiel kept repeating needlessly obvious things in his head just to keep it together.

_Dean and Sam are right here._

_Charlie just had the same thing done._

_I’m giving permission to be touched._

_I’ve gotten a tattoo before.  It won’t hurt_

The half dozen desperately true statements only marginally succeeded in reassuring him. 

He was amazed he could get any words out at all in response to Nina, let alone enough to indicate where he wanted his tattoo—“In the same spot as Dean’s”—and one of the Winchesters must have elaborated further, because Nina seemed to understand. 

Against all odds Castiel managed to fumble his buttons open one by one. 

When Dean’s hand landed on his shoulder it barely even registered because Castiel still had to free his arm from his sleeve.  Another small miracle. 

He felt he should make some sort of apology for his appearance, but the newly revealed skin of his torso and arm didn’t faze Nina at all.  Apart from nudging the hand he was still holding onto his half-open shirt with so he’d pull it a little further away from the center of his chest, she didn’t have any critique to offer and didn’t seem to care that he’d left himself half covered. 

Castiel listened to her fluid commentary as she positioned the stencil for his approval, only flinching slightly when she had to touch his chest and quickly nodding agreement after a swift glance down.  Nina smoothly applied it and adjusted his seat, launching into further chatter about what she was doing. 

When the buzz of the tattoo machine finally started Castiel almost felt relieved.  Getting a tattoo didn’t scare him.  It wasn’t entirely pleasant, but the pain was mild, discomfort really, and now he just had to be patient until it was over

“You doing all right, Cas?” Nina murmured without looking up.  The nickname sounded strange coming from her mouth.  “Let me know if you need a break, okay?”

“Okay,” he repeated.  “I’m okay.”

And even though he hated having his shirt off and this virtual stranger touching him, he sort of meant it. 

Castiel tried to relax. 

He watched Charlie absorbed in her phone, though after a minute she paused to smile at him and give him a thumbs-up.  He couldn’t see Sam’s face, but Jarell seemed to be nearly finished working on him.  He wondered about the origins of a faint scar on Sam’s back, curving towards his left side.  He probably got it saving someone’s life.

A shift in the atmosphere made Castiel tense. Dean was still behind him but it didn’t feel right anymore.  Didn’t feel safe.  He could feel Dean glaring down at him.

Dread wormed its way into his fragile calm, creeping over him at a glacial pace and somehow seeping everywhere all at once.  Angry.   Dean was angry.  Positively pulsing with hate, all directed at _him_.   

Castiel knew it as clearly as if Dean had shouted it at him. 

He must have done something wrong. 

Dean’s grip on his shoulder tightened, not to a painful degree, but enough to make Cas glance worriedly up at him, afraid of what was coming. 

But Dean’s furious gaze went right past him, falling on the exposed half of his chest and making him look positively murderous.

Castiel snapped his eyes downwards. 

The brightly lit room made it easy to see all the marks he’d been carefully avoiding for weeks.  A stubborn patch of bruising hung around his ribs, ugly and discolored.  Dozens of scars covered his chest and he could see the glint of silver from his remaining nipple ring.  Every angry addition might as well have been a tally mark counting up all the shameful things he’d done. 

A lot had healed, but Castiel only registered Dean’s disgust.  He understood that.  Human less than a year and he’d already wrecked his body. 

And it used to be so easy to fix. 

Nina stopped, leaning away from him with a look of concern on her face.

“You okay, hon?”

Castiel blinked, feeling like he might cry and not quite trusting himself to speak. 

“ _Dean_.  Sidebar.  Now,” Charlie demanded, suddenly close enough to yank Dean by his arm, pulling him from Castiel’s side and dragging him into the next room.  Castiel watched them go, leaving him alone. 

He turned away from Nina, unable to look at her, not sure he could move if he tried. 

A moment passed and then Sam was next to him, hastily pulling on his own shirt and doing up the snaps.

“Hey, Cas.  How’s it going?” Sam’s voice came out softer than usual and he impatiently pushed back the strands of hair that kept falling into his face as he looked down at him.  “You want to take a break?”

He wanted to leave. 

“Yes,” Castiel said tightly, starting to move to slide his arm back into its sleeve.  He wanted to be back in his clothes.  Back in the bunker. 

“Wait. Here use this.”

Sam turned, reaching behind him to grab Castiel’s hoodie.  He held it out, helping to drape it over him so Cas would be covered again. 

“Dean.  D-did Dean leave?”  Castiel had meant to say ‘thank you,’ but Dean and Charlie had disappeared into the next room without explanation.  He thought he’d heard the bell over the exit. 

“No, Charlie just took him outside to cool off for a minute.”        

“He’s mad at me.”  Dean saw how broken he was.  Saw all the damage.  Everyone saw.  They were going to leave him here.

“No.  No, he’s not.  He’s not mad at you, Cas.  He—I think he got angry about your,” Sam waved a hand towards him, “your injuries.  He’ll be back in a couple minutes.                  

Castiel pulled the hoodie more securely around himself.  At least Sam was with him.  Dean wouldn’t leave Sam. 

“So, I don’t know if you’d be interested or not,” Nina began, swiveling towards them again on her stool.  “Just something to maybe consider for the future.  I have a friend in Kansas City and he does _amazing_ work incorporating tattoos with scars.  Sometimes people decide to cover them, you know?  Sort of make their skin their own again, if that makes sense.”

“Oh, yeah.  Maybe.  What do you think, Cas?”

“Maybe,” Castiel echoed Sam softly.  He couldn’t even begin to think about another tattoo.  Not while he was barely making it through his current one. 

Sam stayed with him, close but not crowding as he spoke to Nina while Castiel listened and tried to contain the swell of fear in his chest. 

After a few sips of water and some encouraging words from Sam, he found the courage to push his hoodie into his lap so Nina could start again.  She’d only just begun when Dean strode back into the room, his eyes finding Castiel’s immediately.  He didn’t stop until he was at Castiel’s side again, taking up Sam’s abruptly abandoned post.  All the anger was gone from his face, replaced by obvious concern and hints of apology that Castiel didn’t quite understand. 

Almost immediately Dean offered his hand.  Castiel stared, but didn’t take it quickly enough and Dean made up for the hesitation, swiftly taking his.

“Is this good?” Dean asked, voice low as hints of pink colored his cheeks.

“Yes.”

But Castiel didn’t understand Dean’s sudden change in mood.

He didn’t understand how Dean’s anger vanished just as quickly as it appeared. 

All through the rest of his tattoo he focused on Dean, wary of his mood changing again, but it didn’t.

On the car ride home, Dean acted as if nothing had happened, talking and joking with Sam and Charlie while they argued about whether they should eat out or back at the bunker. 

It wasn’t until they’d gotten back and Cas was checking on the plants on his desk, a few with tiny leaves poking out of the soil, that he realized Dean had stopped outside his room, watching him from the open door.

“What?” Castiel asked, slightly worried about what to expect from Dean. 

“Can we talk?”  Dean frowned like the words surprised him.

“Are you going to yell at me?” 

Hitting seemed unlikely.  At least he hoped so.  Dean had never hit him before.

“Cas.  No.  Of course, I’m not going to yell at you, man.”

Dean crossed the room and sat on the bed with a sigh. 

“Earlier, you were…” Castiel paused, questioning the merit of bringing up a topic Dean might rather ignore, “…so angry.  You were mad at me.”

“I was never mad at _you_ , Cas.  But, yeah, you’re still healing and I kind of lost it for a minute.  Started seeing red all over again, thinking about how I fucked up.  How they hurt you.  And I don’t know how you can stand wearing that damn piercing all this time.”  Dean gestured towards his own chest, shaking his head.  “I would have yanked that thing off as soon as I could.”

Castiel recoiled, crossing his arms over his chest and shutting his eyes for a brief moment.   He could feel the tiny piece of metal through his shirt.

“I kind of forgot about it.”

“How do you forget something like that?”

“I don’t look.”

“What, at yourself?”

Cas nodded.

“Like, ever?”

“If I can help it.”

Castiel watched Dean’s eyes flick to the mirror over the sink, which was open completely, revealing the shelves of the medicine cabinet.  It’d been that way for days. 

“So, even in the shower, you don’t like… check things out or look at what you’re doing?”

“It’s easier that way.”

“Oh.”

Dean stared at him, but Castiel couldn’t hold his gaze for long. 

“And I’m afraid it’ll hurt.  Taking out the piercing,” Castiel clarified at Dean’s raised eyebrows.  “It hurt when they put it in.  And the other one hurt coming out.”

It was far from the most painful thing that had happened to him, but the memory made him want to crawl into his bed and hide under the blankets. 

“It won’t be like that, Cas.  They’re meant to come off, and by some stroke of luck it doesn’t look infected or anything, so it should be painless.  Promise.  I’ll walk you through it.”

“Now?”

The day had been too long already.  Stress a constant drain on all his energy.

“Yeah, if you want.  You want it out, right?”

He really did, but…

“I’ll have to take off my shirt.”

“Nah, just unbutton it a little.”

Castiel complied, moving two steps closer to Dean and following his simple instructions until he could easily slide the small piece of jewelry free.  Though it weighed practically nothing, it felt like a large weight lifted from him. 

Castiel wanted nothing to do with the dull metal ring in his palm.  He thrust it at Dean. 

“I don’t want it.  You take it.” 

“Yeah,” Dean held it up to the light, before closing his fist around it, “I should friggin’ burn it.”   

Castiel had no objection to that.

“I wish you’d tell me this stuff, Cas.  I mean, I didn’t know you were still wearing the piercing or about the mirror thing.  And this,” Dean reached into his own pocket, pulling free a pair of handcuffs and holding them up briefly.  “This is what upset you in the car, right?  You didn’t say anything.  I just found them in your hoodie.”

“Talking about my idiotic fears sounds counterproductive.”

“No way.  And they’re not stupid.  We already solved the nipple ring thing.  You hated it.  It’s gone.   Now handcuffs.  You won’t be afraid of them if you know how to get out of them.  So, I’ll teach you to pick locks.  It's an important skill for a hunter.  I should teach all three of you, actually.  A lot of help in a jam.”

Dean made it sound so simple.  Like one easily taught skill would have made the difference in his captivity.

“And with how you look, you should give yourself a break, Cas.  I know it can be hard to face the mirror sometimes, but these scars prove how strong you are.  You know, you hung in there and you didn’t give up, and you went through hell, but you came out the other side and you’re gonna be all right.”

Castiel had given up though.  If he’d given up once, he’d given up more than a dozen times. 

“Is that what you did earlier?  You looked at me and thought about how strong I am and it made you so angry that Charlie had to walk you out of the room?”

“C’mon, Cas. It’s different for me.  I was pissed because it’s my fault this stuff happened to you and I hadn’t seen you in a while.  I think maybe if you try it in small doses, it’ll get easier.”  

“Dean, it’s not your fault.  And if you’re just trying to fix me, like a broken part in your car, you can stop.  Some pieces are too corroded to salvage.  You just have to scrap the entire effort and replace the part with something new.”

Without missing a beat, Dean clamped his mouth shut and kept it that way for several long seconds.  Briefly, Castiel worried that he had been too combative while Dean had only been trying to help him, but then the corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile.

“So, last week, I give you the crappiest version of Cars 101 and at the first opportunity you start spouting car metaphors at me?”

“I know you’re just trying to help, but offering solutions makes me feel like an idiot.”

“Fair enough.”  Dean spread his hands in invitation.  “How do you want to talk about today?”

“Today,” Castiel sighed and sat down too close to Dean on the bed, letting himself lean slightly into Dean for support, “today sucked.”

Dean chuckled and wrapped his arm around Castiel, pulling him in closer.

“Yeah, you can say that again.  You had a pretty shitty day, huh?” 

“Shitty, and stressful, and exhausting,” Castiel said as tried to rub away the persistent throbbing behind his eyes with little success.  His head felt far too heavy and he rested it on Dean’s shoulder thinking he never wanted to lift it again.

“You handled the bad stuff well, Cas.  I mean it.  You had some upsets, sure, but it was worth the pay-off cause now we’ve all got matching sorority sister tattoos, right?  So, all in all, it was a productive day.”

“I thought I was talking?” Cas mumbled, only half concerned that Dean was going to start making helpful suggestions again.

“I ain’t stopping you.”

Soaking in the warmth and comfort of Dean’s arms, Castiel tried to relax.  He felt safer than he had all day.

“For everything difficult I had to do today, leaving the bunker, and being… on display for the tattoo, for some stranger to touch me, I hated it, but the worst part was when you got angry.  And then you left.  I was already so anxious, keeping negative thoughts out of my mind became impossible.  I don’t know what I would have done if Sam wasn’t there.”

Rather than responding right away, Dean merely nodded in acknowledgement, slowly rubbing Castiel’s arm and giving him time to keep talking. 

All the thoughtful attention from Dean made him feel cared for and protected, but the moments were fragile.  Always in danger of cracking in ways Cas couldn’t predict.  Constant dark thoughts surrounded him, forcing their way into fissures in his calm, oozing into every conversation, and obscuring the present until he could no longer see it without tinges of black.         

He didn’t know what to do with all the bad feelings.  They had nowhere to go, but he could ignore them better with Dean at his side.  He hoped they could spend the night together again.  

“Listen, Cas.  I want you to be able to trust me.  So, I’m glad you’re being honest about this stuff and I’m sorry for being such an idiot today.  There’s some things I’ve been meaning to tell you.  I guess, now’s as good a time as any, but you’re not going to like it.” 

“What kinds of things?”

“When we, uh, found you, Sam and I, we didn’t kill everyone.  The men who were there, yeah, but it was only like four people.  The rest of them are still alive.”

Castiel pulled back to look at Dean, panic unfurling in his gut. 

“Who did you kill?”  He hadn’t truly believed them all dead, there’d been so many different men.  “Mal?  Trav?”                

“Yeah, Mal.  Definitely him.  The other guys didn’t really look familiar.”

Castiel looked away.  He tried to forget that Dean had watched almost all the videos of him doing those horrible things.              

“I didn’t tell you sooner because I thought it’d be easier, but you deserve to know the truth.”

“Thank you.”  He could handle this.  The bunker was safe.      

“There’s something else.  They were making money off of you.”    

“I know,” Castiel said.  It was the only thing they had really cared about.               

“Well, Charlie hacked them.  She didn’t want them to get away with all that money.”

“She stole their money?”  Castiel asked, rising from the bed to face Dean and hoping he’d misunderstood.

“Yeah.  We haven’t touched it though.  When you’re ready, you can decide what you want to do with it.”

“Give it back.  You have to give it back!”

“Take it easy, Cas.”

Castiel covered his face, sliding his fingers into his hair and twisting tightly. 

“You don’t understand, Dean.  That money was everything!  It’s the only thing they cared about!”

They would come after him.  They would find him again.

“Yeah, but the guy’s dead!”  Dean was on his feet, raising his voice to match Castiel’s panicked volume.

“Not all of them!  You can’t steal from them _twice_ and not expect them to come after you.”

“ _Twice?!”_ Dean couldn’t hide his horrified expression.  “No, no way, Cas.  We did not _steal_ you.  You are not their fucking property!”

Castiel’s palm found the brand on the back of his neck that said otherwise.  He couldn’t go back there again.  Couldn’t do those things.  He wasn’t strong enough.  He wouldn’t survive it a second time. 

Dean pulled his hand away from the burn and the movement threw Castiel off balance.  He swayed on his feet and grabbed at Dean’s arm to steady himself, unaware of when he started to feel dizzy.     

“Look at me, Cas.  Just breathe, buddy.  Calm down and breathe,” Dean said, holding him up and touching a hand to his face to help him focus.  “They can’t find you here, Cas.  The bunker is safe and Charlie knows what she’s doing.  She knows they’re alive, and if there were any chance they could find you through that money, she’d be doing things differently.  We all want you safe, okay?”

Castiel found his way into Dean’s arms and held him tightly.  He wanted to believe every word of what Dean was saying, because he couldn’t lose the safety of the bunker.  He couldn’t lose his friends.  Couldn’t lose Dean.   

Several shaky breaths helped Castiel to feel a little more in control.  He sighed into Dean’s shoulder as Dean brushed a hand through his hair in a motion that Castiel loved more each time he did it. 

“No one is fucking taking you away, Cas.  You belong here.  Right here.”      

He hoped Dean meant that too. 

Castiel hadn’t belonged anywhere in a very long time. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves*
> 
> Hi! Remember me??
> 
> Thanks for being so patient with my slow nonsense!!


	23. Chapter 23

Bathed in early morning light, Castiel sat sprawled in the grass across from the bunker breathing in the crisp chill of air that had been gradually warming.  His empty coffee mug sat forgotten at his feet next to a book he never opened.  He stretched and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the rising sun.

Far in the distance, Sam appeared, slowing his jog to a walk as he turned the corner and the road changed to gravel under his feet.  Castiel leaned back in the grass, tipping his face skyward, and closing his eyes, simply basking in the warmth of the sun.  

Sam’s morning run routine had become a bit of a habit for Castiel as well.  Almost every day Castiel waited for him in the kitchen, hunched over a cup of coffee, hair a mess with dark circles under his eyes and looking like he belonged back in bed.  Sam knew by now to always look for him before he left.

The only time Castiel managed to sleep in were the rare mornings when he woke up beside Dean.  Even then, he tended to wake before sunrise.  He just didn’t mind lingering in bed as much when he had Dean for company—even a sleeping Dean. 

“Hey,” Sam called out as he drew closer and plucked his water bottle from the ground.

Castiel blinked against the sun, quickly propping himself up on his elbows and finding Sam.

“How was your run?”

“Good.”  Sam lowered his water, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth and then across his sweaty forehead.  Strands of hair stuck to the sides of his face and he pushed them away since they were too short to bother tying them back with the rest of his hair, a style Dean smirked about and referred to as a ‘man-bun’.  “It’s gorgeous out.”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed, eyes on the sky.  “The sunrise… it was beautiful.”

Sam took two steps closer and stuck out a hand to help Castiel to his feet, but even though Cas saw it coming he flinched, ducking his head away from Sam for a moment before he recovered, immediately annoyed.  Undeterred, he took Sam’s hand firmly and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

“We should take a walk,” Sam suggested as Cas brushed harshly at the back of his pants, much less relaxed than he’d been a minute before.  “Take that ankle for a test run.”

A few days ago, they’d gone to have his cast removed, ignoring Dean’s suggestion that he could cut it off himself.  Castiel tried to do well at the doctor’s office.  The loud buzz of the saw in the hands of a stranger perturbed him, but they’d demonstrated that it couldn’t _actually_ cut his skin and he’d hung in there, literally, hung onto Dean throughout the whole thing. 

X-rays showed his break had healed and the doctor had been satisfied despite his initial irritation at a lack of previous medical records for his patient.  He sent Castiel home with a few exercises that would help to strengthen his ankle further and permission to ease into any strenuous activity slowly. 

So, they walked, Cas falling into pace with Sam after the first 50 yards or so. 

“I don’t mean to do that,” Cas said with a sigh. 

“Hmm?”

“React that way.  Like I’m afraid.  It’s frustrating.”

“Yeah, but it’s not a big deal.”

“It is to _me_ ,” Cas insisted, kicking at the dirt road and sending bits of gravel skipping ahead of them.  “It’s just one more thing I can’t control.

“I didn’t mean it’s not important, Cas, just that I get it, and it happens to the best of us.  It’s very human.  Your body’s way of trying to protect itself.”

“Too bad it doesn’t work,” Cas grumbled.

They turned onto a new stretch of road, moving to the shoulder as a truck rumbled past.  The driver stared as he went by, probably because there was a whole lot of nothing in this area and pedestrians were a bit of a rarity. 

“It does go away,” Sam said once the sound of the truck faded.  “Years before I knew you, we were in a car wreck.”

“You and Dean?”

“Yeah, and my dad.”  Sam cleared his throat.  “I was driving and an 18-wheeler slammed right into us.  For months afterward, I felt nervous in the car, whether I was driving or not.  Turning into intersections I worried people would run the light.  Worried when they didn’t slow down fast enough. You know, I think it took me over a year to stop thinking about that every time we drove somewhere.”

“And you think it’ll be the same for me?” 

“There’s a saying, time heals all wounds, and generally I’ve found that to be true.  Even if it takes a long time.  Longer than you’d like.”

Sam gulped more water and offered the bottle to Cas, but he waved him away. 

“Time’s a big part of it, but it’s not the only thing that helps,” Sam continued.  “What do you feel like you need, Cas?  What would help you?”

Castiel stopped and looked at Sam, unable to think of anything.  

“I don’t know.  I wish I knew.”  Cas shook his head, eyes on the ground again.  “It’s too much.  I’m too broken, Sam.  If time heals all wounds, then it must have some foundation to start from.  To _build_ on.  And I don’t have that.  Not anymore.  There’s nothing.  Nothing to repair.  Just ruins… wreckage.”

“No, Cas.”  Sam shook his head.  “It might feel hopeless, but you’re already doing so much better.  You’re so much stronger than you realize.”

“Sam, don’t,” Cas said, a warning in his voice before he started walking again. 

Sam hurried after him.

“It’s true, Cas.  You might not be able to see it right now because you’re still feeling like shit, but all this time I’ve thought you’re doing well.  And I know it’s hard and still so far from where you want to be, but it’s progress.”

“Is it?” Cas whirled to face Sam again, angry instead of sad for a change, words pouring out in a rush.  “Every stupid little thing is a challenge, Sam.  I hate going to sleep and I hate waking up.  I hate going to the bathroom and taking a shower and brushing my teeth and sometimes I get lost doing the simplest task because _everything_ about my body, this skin I’m trapped in, reminds me of things I’d rather forget.  It doesn’t feel like my own anymore and even though it’s been weeks I can still feel—" Cas snapped his mouth shut having already said more than he meant to, the fire in his eyes snuffed out as he looked everywhere but at Sam.

When Cas started walking again, Sam went with him.

“It’s okay to be angry, you know.  Letting that crap out is a good thing.”

“I don’t want to seem ungrateful.  You and Dean have been very good to me.  I shouldn’t complain.”

“Yeah, but you’re not complaining, Cas.  Not really.  You’re upset.  Angry.  It’s normal and I completely understand.”

“Upset,” Cas repeated the word, tone flat, trying to press down on the anger threatening to surface.  Inadequate vocabulary aside, Sam was trying to help.

“I know you’re struggling, Cas.  What do you want to do about it?”

Cas slowed and Sam got a step or two ahead of him before he realized he’d stopped again.

With nothing around them but fields, Cas felt lost in the middle of the road. 

“What _can_ I do about it?” He’d take any solutions.

“Have you given any thought to talking to somebody?  Me or Dean?  Or Charlie even?”

Any solution but that.

“You all know too much about it already,” Cas said, carefully wrapping his arms around his middle.

“Someone else then.  Didn’t some of those websites have hotlines?”

“I don’t want to talk to a stranger.  And I believe those numbers are just for emergencies, not for anything more than that.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Let’s go back,” Cas said, turning around and starting away from Sam. He’d just read things online.  Write things in his journal.  It would be enough.  It’d have to be enough.

Sam caught up in a few easy strides, falling in step next to Cas and briefly patting his shoulder. 

“We’ll figure something out, Cas,” Sam promised as they made their way back to the bunker.  “C’mon, I’ll show you some stuff in the weight room.”

Thankfully Sam didn’t try to continue the conversation in the weight room.  He left Cas alone to go through his ankle stretches, while he occupied himself with the free weights.  Cas knew the conversation wasn’t finished.  He could see Sam mulling over the problem as he lifted a variety of weights different ways in a practiced manner, comfortable in a routine he’d completed dozens of times before.

 

 

 

 “We’ll only be gone a week, maybe a little longer.”

Castiel tried not to let the disappointment show on his face as he listened to Sam basically repeating what Dean had told him the night before.  They’d found a case in nearby Arkansas, at least a day’s drive away from the bunker.  Two people were already dead and they couldn’t find anyone closer to look into the disappearances. 

Sam and Dean were leaving.

Castiel kept his eyes on the items in front of him on the table.  Bent bobby pins, Dean’s lock-pick kit, assorted locks, and a set of handcuffs waited for him to resume his frustrated fiddling. 

He’d been learning.  Dean had pretended like he thought of lock-picking lessons all on his own and not because Castiel had suffered a minor freak out just from looking at a pair of handcuffs.  He and Sam had both sat down with the three of them, offering instruction and pointers, swiftly demonstrating their skill.  Of the three of them, Kevin did best.  He’d already taught himself a decent amount, deeming it a useful skill to have after he’d been forced to figure it out it to escape from a locked room in Leviathan headquarters. 

“The kitchen is stocked so you shouldn’t have to go anywhere, but Charlie’s got a full tank just in case.  Can you think of anything else you guys might need?”

“You worry too much,” Charlie said from across the table as she fit a bobby pin into the key hole of the handcuffs she was wearing and bent it sideways.  “We’ll be fine, right, Cas?”

“Right.”

Even though Castiel had known the Winchesters would return to hunting at some point, he still hated that they were leaving.  And that he had to stay behind.  Dean didn’t even invite him, everyone just seemed to silently agree he wasn’t ready.   

They were right, of course.  Simply watching Charlie sitting there with her wrists loosely locked together made him uneasy.  He couldn’t bear to wear them himself, and had instead practiced endlessly while they rested harmlessly on the table.   

Once he’d gotten control over his hands shaking, Castiel made a lot more progress on the various other locks.

“So,” Sam pulled out the chair next to Castiel and sat down facing him.  “Before we go, Cas, there’s someone I wanted to introduce you too.  A friend.”

“S-someone’s coming here?”

“No, not quite.  Our friend Jody.  Jody Mills.   You must’ve heard us mention her before.  She’s a cop.  Lives in Sioux Falls.  Old friend of Bobby’s.”

Castiel waited, not understanding.

“She’s super nice; real down to earth.  And I know you haven’t… Well,” Sam paused, glancing in Charlie’s direction, “I’ve talked to Charlie and Dean and I’m kind of worried about you.  I think you should talk to someone.  About what happened.  And you haven’t been talking to any of us.  Not really.  Have you tried any of the online forums or support groups Charlie showed you?”      

“Sam, I-I don’t think I can do that,” Cas said, speaking to the table, too ashamed to look up at his friends.  “I did… consider it, but I couldn’t. Typing everything, it’s…  I wouldn’t know where to start and they wouldn’t…”

Castiel bit his lip, rubbing his wrists and staring at the handcuffs Charlie had finally unlocked from her wrists and set aside.  He couldn’t even explain himself now. 

“It’s for people, _humans_.  And I’m, I barely qualify.  They wouldn’t understand me.  _I_ don’t understand.  All these feelings… they’re too complicated.”  And terrifying. 

“That’s why Jody’s a great fit for you, Cas.  She knows all about the supernatural stuff.  Angels, demons, monsters, you can talk about any of it with her and she won’t blink twice.  And she’s a cop so she’s had a bit of training on how to help people, how to talk them through traumatic events.  She’s lived through some horror stories of her own, too.”

“I don’t know, Sam.  I don’t know if I’m… ready for that.”   

“You don’t have to be ready now, Cas.  It can just be another option.  I’ll introduce you and Charlie together, and we can all chat over Skype for a bit.  Then you’ll have an extra person you can talk to if you feel like it.  I didn’t tell Jody much, that’s up to you what you want her to know.  And it doesn’t even need to be about what happened.  You can chat about whatever and she’ll keep it private.”

“Well, now I definitely want to meet her,” Charlie chimed in, “because she sounds badass. And she’s probably gorgeous, because I feel like everyone you know is gorgeous.”

“You haven’t met Garth,” Dean smirked, appearing behind Charlie and dropping into the empty chair beside her.

 “I’ll introduce all of you.”  Sam stood and reached across to the other table for his laptop.

After showing Cas how to get skype set up, Sam said he was ready to call and the others crowded around the two of them.

Fortunately, Jody answered on the first try and, once she fixed her sound issue, she got a whole bunch of friendly hellos.  Sam and Dean carried the conversation, with occasional interjections from Charlie.

In an attempt to keep his attention away from the tiny box in the corner of the screen that showed him and Sam and most of Dean’s face and Charlie when she decided to lean back into view, Castiel ended up staring at Jody.  She had a kind face and seemed to really care about Sam and Dean, asking how they were and telling them more than once to be careful when they mentioned they were leaving in the morning to hunt a probable werewolf.

She made them both laugh and Cas decided he liked her.

 

 

 

 

Later that afternoon, Castiel helped Sam and Dean gather their things and prepare to leave. 

He went with Dean to fuel up the car and they stopped at the supermarket for a few last minute items Dean needed.

“Wanna hang around while I make a casserole so you all don’t starve once I’m gone?” Dean asked as they hefted their grocery bags onto the counter in the kitchen.

“Of course,” Castiel agreed, but he had no interest in simply watching Dean without helping.  At his insistence Dean tasked him with opening a can of black beans and draining them in the sink which Castiel managed easily enough though the can opener took a minute to figure out. 

They worked together, Cas kind of helping, until all the ingredients were assembled in a casserole dish.  Unprompted, Castiel began washing the saucepan and other odds and ends while Dean put the dish in the oven and set the timer before coming to stand by his side and start drying.

Dean hummed a song Castiel recognized from the playlist Dean had recently added to his mp3 player.  Probably Led Zeppelin.  Nearly all of the songs were. 

Even though he knew Dean had to leave, Castiel didn’t want him to go.  Sam either.  They hadn’t been hunting in over a month and it had been a comfort having them so close.  He felt certain that if they left something bad would happen. 

So many things could go wrong.  They could get arrested or injured or captured, another case could keep them on the road, stop them from coming back.

And the bunker would be so different without them.  That Castiel was sure of.  As much as he liked Charlie and got along with Kevin, he knew Sam and Dean better.  He felt safer around them. 

And Dean was different now. More kind and patient than he’d been at times in the past.  Touch still bothered Castiel. He was acutely aware when it happened, of Dean’s hand on his arm, his shoulder, the way they sat together on the couch, close enough to share space, nearly always touching. But in a way he really liked Dean's closeness.

Dean’s warmth was a comfort that Castiel worried might not continue once he left and came back. 

If they came back. 

If he ever got a chance to see Dean again.

“I’m going to miss you,” Castiel blurted, turning to Dean.  The large, just rinsed pot he was holding between them dripped water onto their shoes.

Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise, blinking at him before he took it to dry.

“Yeah?  Well, we won’t be gone that long.”

“I know.”  Castiel didn’t quite believe that.  He’d never spent such an extended amount of time with the Winchesters before and now they were leaving him. 

“You need us to stay?”

That would be selfish.  Castiel shook his head. 

“You should go.  People need help and, and we’ll be fine.”

It almost sounded convincing. 

Dean wiped his hands on the dish towel and hung it back on the oven door. 

“That reminds me,” Dean dug a hand into his pocket, “thought you might want this back.”

He held out the old cell phone Cas had been using months ago.

“Figured you’d feel better if you had a way to call us or text us while we’re gone.  I’ve got the charger in my room.  Don’t let me leave without giving it to you.”

“Okay,” Castiel agreed, glad that he’d be able to contact Dean easily.   

He tried not to think about how he had the phone while he was homeless and it never rang a single time.

 

 

 

 

In the morning everyone got up early in anticipation of Sam and Dean’s departure. Castiel had barely slept at all, tortured by bad thoughts and worse dreams. Charlie had purposefully set her alarm so she could say goodbye and now she was sitting across from him praying to the coffee gods to cure her with caffeine.

 “Sam just went to put his bag in the car, so I think we’re heading out,” Dean said as he stepped into the kitchen and picked up his coffee mug for a few last sips. 

“Woah, slow your roll, dude.”  Charlie popped up from where she’d been sitting with Kevin and Cas.  “You can’t just leave without proper goodbyes.”

“We’re only going two states over. We won’t be gone that long,” Dean objected, clearly not used to having anyone to say goodbye to, but he opened his arms so Charlie could hug him.

Castiel stared, his heart aching, because everything he had was urging him to get up and follow Charlie’s lead, to wrap himself tightly around Dean and not let go. 

“I got up at the ass-crack of dawn to see you guys.  I deserve some hugs.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean rolled his eyes at her, sounding grumpy, but smiling as they pulled apart.

“And if Sam thinks he’s getting away without a goodbye, then he is sorely mistaken, because he’s next on my list.” 

“Sounds like a threat you should deliver in person.”

“On my way!” Charlie exclaimed and it sounded like the caffeine was finally kicking in.

Dean watched Charlie exit the kitchen in her Totoro slippers and Castiel got to his feet before he lost his nerve.

“Dean.”  The surprise on Dean’s face when he turned around to see Castiel standing close, worried him briefly, because maybe Dean wouldn’t want a hug from him, but Castiel needed one.  He had no idea when he’d see Dean again and that wasn’t okay.   

Still, Castiel couldn’t bring himself to actually say goodbye.  He never had before and it sounded too final, so he just threw his arms around Dean and pulled him in tight.

“Okay,” Dean said, slowly hugging him back.  “’S’all right, Cas.”

Castiel just held on tighter as Dean gently rubbed his back.  He closed his eyes and set his chin on Dean’s shoulder, drinking in his fresh from the shower scent and hoping that Dean leaving didn’t mean the end of their touching.  That Dean didn’t consider Cas ‘all better’ now because he definitely wasn’t.  At the moment, he felt like Dean’s strong arms wrapped around him were the only thing keeping him from falling apart. 

To Castiel’s delight, Dean allowed the hug to last far longer than he’d hoped, but he eventually pried him away.  They were alone in the kitchen now and it was so quiet.  Kevin must have escaped while Castiel had his eyes shut.  Dean still had a hold of Castiel’s arms, keeping him close. 

“We’ll be back before you know it, Cas,” he said, voice soft.

Castiel nodded at the floor and blinked a few times to hold off tears.  He didn’t know why Dean leaving scared him so much. 

“Listen, man, I’d love to take you with us.  I really would, but it’s safer for you here.  I don’t think you’re ready for hunting yet.”

“I know,” Castiel mumbled, because even though he didn’t like it, Dean was right. It was kind of Dean to say ‘yet’ like he might become more useful in the future, but he knew he’d only be in the way. He wasn’t ready for the dangers of hunting. He might never be now that he was human.  “You’ll be careful?”

“Aren’t I always?”  Dean grinned and brushed gently at Castiel’s hair.  “You’ve got like a friggin’ birds nest growing up here.”

Batting Dean’s hand away, Castiel made a futile attempt to pat down his rebellious hair, but Dean’s fond smile distracted him.  He turned to leave the kitchen, waving a hand at Cas to follow him.    

Their goodbye in the garage went completely differently.  By the time Castiel and Dean arrived Sam and Charlie were leaning against the car laughing and talking.  Dean smiled as soon as he saw them, but instead of more hugs Sam patted Cas on the arm while Dean called across the roof of the car for them to “Take care of each other and don’t burn the place down.”  Then Dean climbed in and drove them out of the garage and away, away, away.

 

 

 

 

 

The first day without the Winchesters stretched on endlessly.  Castiel checked the time on his phone over and over but the minutes moved at a torturous crawl.  Lasting a week felt impossible. 

Charlie tried to keep him occupied, but Castiel couldn’t seem to listen or focus properly and with little input from him or Kevin even she struggled to maintain a largely one-sided conversation. 

With the Winchesters gone the safety of the bunker seemed extra important and Castiel found himself checking the lock on the main entrance more than once and repeatedly inspecting the warding for any irregularities. 

“No one’s going to try and break in,” Charlie told him the third time he came back down the steps from the locked door.  “People can’t find us here.”

Castiel agreed, but Charlie couldn’t _know_ that. Not for sure.

The Winchesters had weapons stashed around the bunker and Castiel walked from one hiding spot to the other, reassuring himself that they were nearby.  With the brothers gone it would be up to him to keep Charlie and Kevin safe. 

He felt for the gun strapped to the underside of the map table, the cool metal reassuring under his fingertips, and wished he had practiced shooting.  He was still rather inexperienced with firearms, but would do his best if he had to.  If they… if Trav found him, if they somehow figured out where he was….  Castiel pushed the thought from his mind and took up his place at the table to busy himself once again with lock picking.

In the afternoon they watched a movie at Charlie’s insistence, the three of them on the couch together, but Castiel barely saw any of it.  Staring at his phone, he wondered about Dean and Sam, where they were, how they were doing.  He contemplated texting but didn’t know what to say.  He might be annoying Dean.  They’d been together for weeks.  Dean could be sick of him.  Maybe he wanted a break… but, no.  No.  Dean had said he wanted to bring him along just this morning.  Castiel didn’t think it was a lie.  Dean didn’t say things he didn’t mean just to make people feel better. 

Castiel frowned at his phone, flipping it open and then closed with a click, undecided.  Next to him, Charlie had fallen asleep with her feet tucked beneath her and her head cushioned by a pillow on the arm rest.

“You calling him?”  Kevin asked from his other side.

“I don’t think so.”  He wouldn’t know what to tell Dean anyway.  “He’s probably driving.”

“You could text.”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed, flipping the phone open and closed again.

“You like him, don’t you?”

“Of course.”  Castiel liked Dean far more than he should.  “Don’t you?”

Kevin rolled his eyes and gave an exasperated little sigh before he stood up.  “Wake up Charlie.  We should drink their booze.”

Without meaning to Castiel quickly ruined that plan.

One whiff of the drink Kevin had poured for him in the library had him dropping the glass with a thud and retching over the side of the table, overcome with the reeking scent of a stranger’s breath in his face, a horrible taste in his mouth as unwanted memories assaulted him.  His head swam, and he jerked out of his seat when someone—Charlie—tried to lay a comforting hand on his back.

Embarrassed and upset, Castiel made excuses to go to his room, ignoring Charlie’s protests that it was no big deal and that he hadn’t eaten all day. 

Hiding in his bed solved nothing though. 

He couldn’t sleep.  

Didn’t want to think. 

Jamming his headphones on, Castiel started the playlist Dean had made him, turning the volume up loud enough to drown out his own thoughts. 

It kind of worked.

Staring ahead at nothing it took a while for Castiel to realize the music had ended and he wondered how long he had laid there with the silence.  He’d been in his room for a couple hours but he still had a long way to go till morning. 

With a monumental effort, he pushed himself up so he was sitting, the blankets he’d been curled up in falling to either side as he dug his phone out of his pocket.  He had new text messages from Charlie, checking in on him, one from Kevin telling him to come eat some of the burrito casserole and watch tv.  Sam had sent him the name of the motel they were staying in.  And then there was Dean.

Dean (7:37pm) **Finally done driving for the day**

Dean (7:38pm) **Made it all the way to eureka springs**

Dean (8:21pm) **got some dinner. u guys eat yet?**

Dean (8:29pm) **there’s a space program on discovery @ 9**

Cas perked up reading through all the messages.  They weren’t particularly important, but the fact that Dean had bothered to contact him at all made him feel better.  He slowly pecked out a reply.

Cas (8:49pm) _I haven’t had dinner yet.  Not sure about Kevin and Charlie.  I will have to check._

After sending his text, Cas considered sending one of the colorful little faces, but Dean replied before he’d been able to choose.

Dean (8:52pm) **make sure you get some. Kevin’s a bottomless pit**

Dean (8:53pm) **and** **don’t let him eat all the poptarts**

Castiel agreed and they continued messaging.  Dean eventually asked how everyone was and Castiel guiltily sent him a tiny frog face as filler while he went down the hall to make sure the others were fine before he sent Dean a positive response. 

When he walked into the library Charlie popped out of her chair to greet him.

“Cas! You’re just in time to watch Kevin’s defeat.”  She gestured back at the table where she and Kevin had been playing some sort of card game. 

“It’s not over yet,” Kevin grumbled but he was rubbing at his forehead and scowling at his cards.

“Dean texted to check on us.” Castiel held up his phone.  “Should I tell him we’re all okay?”

“Definitely and tell him the casserole was delish.  Why don’t you have some?”

“I will,” Castiel agreed even though he didn’t feel hungry, but trying it was the least he could do after Dean went to the trouble of making it. He remembered how good it had smelled when Dean made it and opened his phone to text him again.

 

 

 

 

With Sam and Dean missing from the bunker, the silence grew.  Even though Charlie tried to fill it with conversation and music and a variety of television shows, it wasn’t the same without the brothers breathing life into the bunker, which was feeling more cavernous by the minute.  The spot in the library Sam usually claimed with his laptop and lore and a strong cup of coffee remained empty.  The door to Dean’s room stayed shut.  The kitchen had lost its warmth. 

Nights became harder.  Castiel knew that he was the best fighter in the bunker now, the person with the most experience if anything were to happen, but he couldn’t protect anyone.  Still, he sat up, awake and terrified of the alternative.

It wasn’t until the second night when he was on the couch watching a sitcom he couldn’t remember the name of that he fell asleep for more than a few minutes.  Anxiety, coffee and one of Kevin’s energy drinks kept him going until he simply couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer.

He woke up screaming.  Disoriented, Castiel sprang from the couch, immediately tripping over one of the crates they used as a coffee table and crashing to the floor.  _The bunker floor_ he tried to convince the fresh-from-sleep parts of his mind that were still panicking.

Charlie burst through the doorway, pointing a gun and sweeping the room. Kevin appeared just a step behind her wielding a wooden baseball bat, eyes wide and skipping over everything.  The sight of the weapons made Castiel want to crawl away to the wall, but as soon as Charlie spotted him she lowered the gun.

“Cas! Oh my god. Are you okay?!” She set the gun on the couch as she crossed the room, crouching down beside him. 

“Holy shit,” Kevin sighed, his whole body deflating as he dropped his aggressive stance, the end of the bat thudding against the floor.  “It sounded like somebody was in here killing you, Cas. What happened?”

Castiel shook his head, wanting to apologize, but unable to force out the words with his heart still racing and his breath shaky.

“Probably just a dream, right, Cas?  It’s okay.  You’re okay,” Charlie reassured him, gently rubbing his arm. 

“Here.” Kevin set the bat down and joined Castiel on his other side so he and Charlie could help him up.  It wasn’t absolutely necessary, but Castiel (and his sore knees he’d landed on) appreciated the assistance, especially since they only hung onto him briefly until he was on his feet again. 

“Th-thank you, both of you.”

“Caffeine nightmare, I bet,” Kevin said, eyeing Castiel’s empty mug and a discarded aluminum can as Cas sat back down on the couch and Charlie sat with him. 

“I’ll sit up with you.”

“You don’t have to do that, Charlie. You can go to bed.”

“We’ll both stay.” Kevin flopped onto the bed, curling up to his bat and a pillow, mumbling, “Sleep over, yay.”

And they did stay, keeping Castiel company all night. Kevin passed out first, but Charlie lasted longer, watching a show about cupcakes with him and offering up a surprising number of cake related anecdotes including the reason she loathed red-velvet.  Castiel fell asleep with his head nearly in her lap, Charlie’s fingers combing carefully through his hair.

 

 

 

 

“So how'd’ya meet Sam and Dean anyway?”

Castiel stopped fussing with the errant thread sticking out of the blanket on his bed and looked back at Jody on his computer screen. 

She’d been talking.  Just simple things.  The weather in Sioux Falls.  The leftover meatloaf she’d had for lunch and how the thought of eating it again for dinner was one time too many.  The rising price of gas when he’d mentioned that the Winchesters were still on the road. 

Castiel knew he should be saying more.  He was the one who called her after all.  With Charlie asleep after sitting up a good portion of the night with him and Kevin busy on his laptop, Castiel had found himself with entirely too much time to think.  He was waiting to hear back from Dean.  It’d been more than 24 hours since his last text and Castiel’s mind was envisioning all sorts of nasty reasons why.

Still, he should have made a list of talking points. 

“How did _you_ meet them?” Castiel countered.

Jody’s small smile vanished and she looked away.  “Ah, yeah.”  She shook her head.  “That, uh…”

“You don’t have to tell me.  I forget they usually meet people under terrible circumstances.”

It was a case.  It had to be.  And that meant bad things happened.

“No, it’s, it’s fine.” Jody waved her hand dismissively, but still didn’t meet his eye.  “It was years ago.  In town.  People, _dead people_ were coming back to life.  For a bit anyway.”

“Like… zombies?”  Cas frowned.  Not exactly a common phenomenon. 

“I guess.”  Jody shrugged.  “They seemed fine at first.  Normal, ya know?  Well, as normal as you might expect someone to be after being dead a while.  And people were happy.  Loved ones coming back? I thought it was a damn miracle.”  Jody cleared her throat.  “But the good never lasts and it sure as hell didn’t.  Went south real quick.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.  Later, Bobby said apocalypse.  ’Course the _why_ doesn’t really matter.  Your boys rolled into town to investigate, this sort of thing being their specialty.  Only took me about two minutes to call them on their bullshit.”

“Not very many people get to do that.”

“Well, not very many people can spot a liar.  And those boys are pretty convincing, decent cover story and all, but then they tried to pass Bobby off as an FBI director.  Big mistake.”

Unable to resist any longer, Castiel looked at his phone beside the laptop, itching pick it up and check for missed messages.  The volume was all the way up though.  He wouldn’t have missed anything. 

“Bobby was a good man,” Jody continued, taking a sip of her beer and staring thoughtfully off screen.

A good man. 

A hero killed by Leviathans. 

And no one around to heal him.

Castiel sighed and said, “Dean was in hell.”  Jody’s eyebrows shot up near her bangs and she pulled the beer bottle away from her mouth, her lips staying stuck open in a little ‘o.’

“Sam died and Dean made a deal.  His soul for Sam’s life. The demon only gave him a year.  We, _angels_ , had to get him back.”

“Wait, wait.  So… you literally s _aved_ Dean?”

“Yes.” 

“From _hell?_ ”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Castiel traced the arrow keys on his laptop, thinking.  “That’s a very long story, but ultimately he didn’t belong there.”

Jody didn’t move or react for a moment, waiting in stunned silence for him to elaborate, but Cas left her waiting.

“Wow, just…” Jody shook her head in disbelief, “wow.  _And Sam died?_ ”

“For the first time, yes.”

Jody opened her mouth on the verge of asking more questions before she seemed to think better of it. 

Even from hundreds of miles away, Cas could feel her staring at him.  As if to remind him of the distance, the display lagged and then the entire screen froze, Jody’s voice coming through without the image to match.

“At least when Dean met you it wasn’t ‘under terrible circumstances’.  Sounds like it was probably the best damn thing that ever happened to him.”

When the video caught up Jody was still smiling.

 

 

 

 

 

On the fifth day, Charlie told Castiel he looked like the walking dead and decided he should sleep in Dean’s room.  In Dean’s bed.

“Dean’ll be fine with it.  He won’t care at all.  I swear,” she’d insisted at Castiel’s initial reluctance.

Though truth be told, it had already occurred to Castiel, after the very first nightmare, that he should seek refuge in Dean’s room. That if he couldn’t have Dean, the next best thing would be to invade Dean’s room and tuck himself away there among Dean’s possessions and his lingering scent.  It wasn’t something you’d notice just walking in, but if Castiel nestled himself in the blankets on Dean’s bed, which would be ideal, and maybe even exchanged a few carefully selected layers of Dean’s clothing for his own, then he’d be wrapped up in that calming scent, warm and safe in Dean’s familiar room.  The idea was very appealing.

“Text him if you want,” Charlie encouraged when Castiel still hesitated.  “Just say, ‘can I crash in your room’ and he’ll totally get it.  I really think it’ll help you sleep.”

Texting for permission did seem like a good idea but Castiel didn’t like the wording.  Can I crash in your room?  Crash.  It sounded loud and disruptive and messy which was honestly the complete opposite of what Cas was imagining.  He only needed to go in there quietly and respectfully and he would ever so carefully pull back the sheets so that he could crawl into the smallest corner of Dean’s bed. 

Just a tiny spot with the blankets pulled up to his chin and he’d definitely stay on the side of the bed he’d used before.  Probably.  Or maybe he’d switch to Dean’s side or at least borrow Dean’s pillow to press his face into and inhale that familiar scent.  There would definitely be no crashing.  He’d keep everything tidy, the way Dean liked it.

Castiel drafted and deleted several different messages to Dean trying to come up with the best way to phrase his request. The first few included explanations about why Cas wanted to be allowed in, but they all ended up far too long.  Castiel didn’t really want to mention the nightmares.  He wanted it to sound like Dean could say no if he wanted to. Like he wasn’t falling apart with Dean gone.  In one of the messages he even started to babble about how worried he was about the two of them on their hunt, but he quickly thought better of that.

In the end he sent: _Do you mind if I sleep in your room tonight?_ And was rather shocked by Dean’s quick response.

Dean (2:11pm) **Go for it**

Dean (2:11pm) **Any night**

It wasn’t a great night of sleep, but it was certainly better than he’d been getting. 

 

 

 

 

“Wait, wait,” Charlie waved her hand with tiny flicks of her wrist. “So, you want to cook something for Dean?”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed uncertain about the slightly disbelieving look on her face.  “And Sam.”

“Right, right. Of course. Sam too,” Charlie quickly corrected herself.  “Naturally it’s for Dean _and_ Sam.” 

She exchanged a knowing look across the table with Kevin that Castiel couldn’t decipher. 

“Have you ever even cooked _anything_ before?” Charlie asked.

They didn’t think he could do it.

“Well, a recipe reads like a spell,” Castiel started, doubt creeping in as he sidestepped the question. “And I’ve performed spells before.  Certain ingredients, a set of steps to be followed...”

Maybe it was a bad idea.  He used to be able to complete spells easily, but they were right, he’d probably just mess it up.

“Does that mean you might actually, you know, eat some of it?” Kevin asked and Charlie shushed him, waving his question away so she could ask her own.

“What did you have in mind, Cas?”

“Tell me you’re not making burgers,” Kevin said, “Dean and his damn burgers. They’re delicious, but dude needs to branch out more.  Not everything needs to be red meat.”

“I thought, on the cooking show Dean and I watch together sometimes,” Charlie and Kevin exchanged another brief look, “I watched an episode today, and they made baked eggplant parmesan and said it was an easy recipe that looks impressive and tastes even better.”

“That sounds so good, actually.  I _love_ Italian food. Will you let me help? I know how to make killer garlic bread to go with it,” Charlie volunteered.

“I want to make a salad too and pie for dessert.”  Castiel felt certain that Sam and Dean would appreciate the meal when they got back and if he couldn’t help on the hunts then he was determined to help at the bunker.

“Sounds like we need to go shopping!” Charlie squealed, far too excited for the situation.

After going over the recipes and taking inventory of the kitchen to see what supplies they needed, cooking ware and food wise, Castiel decided against his better judgement to accompany Charlie to get the ingredients they’d need.  Not wanting to pass up an opportunity to stockpile energy drinks, Kevin decided to join them and so the three of them squashed into Charlie’s car and made for the nearest supermarket.

Being out of the bunker without a Winchester felt like riding towards disaster and Castiel squeezed his phone in his hand like he might suddenly need it to call for help.  He paid careful attention to where they were going, but trying to remember the names of the roads and which direction they turned only spiked his dread further.  He _couldn’t_ remember it all and it was only a lousy few turns before they got on 36 and oh, no were they going east or west? 

Castiel rolled the window down all the way and took several deep breaths and then a few more focusing on slowing himself down and trying to ignore how terribly tiny the car felt.  He knew Charlie and Kevin had noticed his minor freak out by now, but they were kind enough not to mention anything while he reined himself in and he was grateful.  They wouldn’t strand him somewhere. _They wouldn’t_.  

Still, Castiel kept embarrassingly close to Charlie as they made their way around the store.  She didn’t seem to mind though and happily linked an arm with him and let him push the cart so that he could squeeze the life out of something that wasn’t her hand.  Castiel felt certain everyone was staring at him.

Food shopping shouldn’t be so damn hard. But at least he did it. 

The text he got from Dean on the drive back felt like a reward even if it was just a complaint about a road closure that was going to delay them at least an hour on the drive back. 

Castiel told him to come back hungry. He added a winking face and a dessert emoji that he thought was a slice of cake since he couldn’t find any pies

Once they got back to the bunker Castiel felt better and he and Charlie began cooking right away. Chopping and measuring made for a good distraction and they spent most of the day working through the recipes.  At Kevin’s suggestion they’d added meatballs to the menu (“I thought you were sick of red meat!?”) and Cas found that methodically molding the ground beef into uniform size felt good.  He felt productive.  Seeing the progress he made and knowing that the food was going to feed the Winchesters and Charlie and Kevin made all the difference.  This was actually useful.  Fulfilling an immediate need, unlike the Sumarian text he’d been tediously translating or his ongoing efforts to catalog and record their inventory of spell ingredients.

Castiel wanted to learn all the recipes, so Charlie let him take the lead, jumping in with help and advice as they went.  She quickly put a lid on the pot of simmering marinara so flying blobs of sauce couldn’t escape, peeled apples like a pro while Castiel cut them, and drilled in the importance of making sure to wash everything that touched raw meat. 

When Sam texted to let them know they were about an hour away, Castiel felt a flutter of nerves, worried that Sam and Dean were so close but that something could still happen that would stop them from getting back safely.  The car wreck Sam had mentioned flew into his mind and refused to leave.  The werewolf they’d killed could have had a pack, other werewolves intent on revenge, following the Winchesters as they drove, waiting for a chance to ambush them.  What if police officers had seen through their FBI lies and were going to arrest them?

“Earth to Cas.  You okay, dude?” 

“I’m fine, Charlie.”  His eyes fell to the pots on the stove.  What if they didn’t like his cooking?

“You’ve been staring into that cupboard nonstop. You didn’t even notice when I turned down Beyoncé,” Charlie gestured towards her tablet. 

“I was just…” Castiel set the forgotten basil he was holding on the shelf with the small but growing collection of spices and shut the door, “…thinking.” 

“Well, why don’t you take a break? Check on Kevin.  I can handle the end of this,” Charlie said, gesturing vaguely towards the counter and effectively kicking him out.

It didn’t take long for Kevin to talk him into a game of chess. Playing with Kevin was easy even if he was too distracted to do well for long enough to win.  While Castiel knew that Charlie considered him a friend, he wasn’t as sure about Kevin.  They didn’t talk much and Kevin could be ‘moody’ as Dean called it, but the silence between them was usually comfortable enough, so Castiel surprised himself when he broke it just as Kevin moved his knight to take the place of one of Castiel’s pawns, plucking the defeated piece from the board and setting it aside. 

“I’m a pawn,” Castiel said, staring at the small white figure.  “Small, unimportant… nearly useless.”

“Are we really doing this?” Kevin asked, glancing around like someone might appear in the empty library and save him from the conversation. 

“I used to be a queen,” Castiel continued.  “Powerful.  Formidable.  I could go anywhere.”

He traced the tiny cross on the top of his king.

“Okay,” Kevin sighed, “but, a pawn can still win though.  It can take any piece on the board, right?  So, they’re all kind of equal that way, just limited in ability.”

“I guess.”

Castiel studied the board again, uncertain where he should make a move.

“Anyway, the pieces are only as good as the person playing them.  You give them direction.”

“Direction implies a plan, Kevin.  I used to have a plan.  I knew where I was going.”  Castiel started to reach for his bishop and stopped.   “Not anymore.”

“Yeah, well, that’s kind of life.  You might have a plan, goals, but none of it matters because life just kicks you in the teeth.  You think I wanted to be hanging around this musty bunker, dodging demons, and going out of my mind trying to read a bunch of pointless scribbles on an ancient hunk of rock?”

Castiel merely looked at Kevin.

 “I had plans.  A future.  You’re not the only one who’s gotten screwed over.  Charlie was working a good job before the Leviathans.  Sam and Dean, well, they’ve been screwed for years, as far as I can tell.  So, welcome to the club.  This is life.  It’s not fair and it sucks.”

He was already losing anyway, so Castiel barely bothered to look where he moved his knight. 

“So, what? I should just… accept that and that’s it?”

“You have to accept it, because you can’t change it.  You just have to, I don’t know, make the best of it?” Kevin said, sinking in his seat and looking as miserable as Castiel felt.  “Also, check.”

Across the room the heavy bunker door swung open with a groan and they both looked over as Dean came through, closely followed by Sam, still in the midst of some conversation.   

Castiel was on his feet and halfway to the stairs before he could even think about it. 

They were back.  Sam and Dean came back.  They didn’t leave him. 

Castiel could feel the relief down to his toes. 

His love for Sam and Dean, though different, overwhelmed him and Castiel knew he was going to hug them both.

 

Dean spotted him right away with a soft, “Hey Cas.”

“Dean.”

They were safe.

At the bottom of the stairs, Dean dropped his duffle, turning properly to Castiel with a smile that quickly turned into a grimace when it got too broad, derailed by the scraped skin marring his cheek. 

“You’re hurt.” Castiel gently took Dean’s face in his hands, cradling his jaw and turning him carefully to see the injury better.  “What happened?”

“Werewolf threw him across the room,” Sam answered as he passed them, sounding amused.  “Dean decided to break the fall with his face.”

“’M fine, Cas,” Dean protested quietly, moving restlessly but not pulling out of his grasp.  Castiel felt him swallow against his palm.  “Not a big deal.”

Even though Castiel knew Dean was right, the red and irritated skin was a minor thing, a mere scratch, he didn’t like it.  He should have been there. 

With unsure fingers he stroked Dean’s neck.   Once he would have been able to fix him with a touch. Now…

“I can’t heal you.”  Castiel let his useless hands fall.

“What?” Dean startled out of staring at him, cheeks flushed.  Briefly, Castiel considered whether Dean might be feverish, but then, he couldn’t heal sickness either.

“Dean is _fine_ , Cas.”

“Yeah, it’s just a flesh wound.  Sam’s the one who needed stitches.”

“What?” Castiel turned a critical eye to Sam, evaluating him.  He had no visible injuries and was clearly well enough to shoot a peeved look at his brother.  “Sam, is this true? Are you hurt too?”

“It’s barely anything, Cas.”  He waved a hand towards his thigh.  “Stitches were overkill.  Just a precaution, really, since we both heal pretty quickly.  Anyway, what smells so good?  Did you guys pick up food?” 

Scowling at the topic change, Castiel decided to let it go.  It wasn’t like he could do anything to help Sam anyway and at least he didn’t limp when he took a few steps in the direction of the kitchen.

“Cas and Charlie have been cooking all day,” Kevin supplied.

“You have?” Dean sounded surprised but his face was amused.  Sam looked more skeptical.

“And baking,” Castiel added.  Not just cooking, but shopping and baking and chopping and cleaning and… assembling? Is that how you described making a salad?  None of it seemed as important as healing, but it’d taken so much more effort than a touch.

“Can’t wait,” Dean said with a grin before he disappeared to take a quick shower.  Sam tailed him down the hall. 

Castiel stared after them suddenly feeling very tired.  He’d missed his chance to hug Dean. All he really wanted at the moment was to follow Dean to his room and pull him down on the bed where it would be soft and warm and he couldn’t heal Dean, but he could kiss his face and hold onto him.  They’d both be safe and he could finally sleep. 

He hadn’t had a thought like that about Dean in a long time.  It was something he’d buried repeatedly over the years, certain it was unwelcome. When he’d become human it had been worse for a while, this feeling about Dean that he’d reluctantly identified as love. 

“Ummm…”

Castiel jumped and wheeled around.  He’d forgotten Kevin was there.  His face tinged red in embarrassment.  It was better not to think about stuff like that with Dean, despite his brain being eager to supply the idea.  Better not to dwell on the impossible. 

“It’s not any of my business, Cas, about you and Dean,” Kevin started and Castiel flushed further.  How could Kevin know?  No one knew.  “But if it was me, I’d want to know the truth.”

“The truth?” Castiel hesitated, “…About what?”

“Hang on. Gotta grab something,” Kevin said, holding up a finger to indicate he’d only be a minute as he left the room. 

Alone, Castiel wrung his hands, because surely Kevin wasn’t about to tell him good news.  And if it was bad news, he kind of didn’t want to know.  It’d been so nice for a moment, that burst of warmth he’d felt when Dean and Sam first walked in, the instant relief that they were back so quickly spoiled because they weren’t okay and he couldn’t fix them. 

Now even the fragrant smell of the dinner he and Charlie had prepared made his stomach turn.  His anxiety rushed back as he stood waiting for Kevin to return and tell him...tell him what?  He'd said it was about Dean. The first thought that bulldozed into his head, flattening everything in its path was that Dean didn't really want him here and it scared him enough that he curled his fingers around his elbows hugging himself, because _where would he even_ _go?!_ The bunker started feeling cold and Castiel half expected to see his breath puff out in a wispy, warm cloud. 

Kevin reappeared, too busy fiddling with his phone to even look at him. 

"It's riiiiight…" he murmured and Castiel tried to focus on Kevin and his phone—No. Not his phone.  That was Dean's phone. He recognized the case. He wondered if Dean knew Kevin had it.

Afraid of asking, Castiel stayed silent another moment until Kevin found what he was looking for. 

"…Here.  Look."  He shoved the phone at Castiel, pointing to the screen as he took it.  "See that?  That's Dean's call history, your number is programmed into his phone so if he called you it would show up here.  You'd see your name."

"O-okay," Cas said uncertainly and Kevin launched into a ranting explanation.

"He didn't call you. Not until like a week before they found you. You can scroll back through the months and see everything.  All that time you were missing?  Nothing. You were on your own and you needed help and he couldn’t even bother to pick up the phone and check on you.” Kevin’s anger dissolved into something softer but the hard look on his face remained when he said, “He didn’t look for you, Cas.”

On some level Castiel knew this already.  Dean had sort of said as much when he apologized for kicking him out. But still… He kept scrolling past endless days and seeing all sorts of numbers going by and some names he didn’t recognize and even Crowley had made the cut of people worth staying in touch with.

Castiel knew that exactly 167 days had passed after Dean dismissed him from the bunker before he saw him again. 167 days he’d been on his own. He’d done the math and he never forgot that date because he spent ages trying to figure out what he had done wrong, what terrible crime he’d committed that Dean didn’t trust him, didn’t want him, refused to help him. 

He’d come up with a lot of reasons. 

Castiel _knew_ but seeing the evidence in front of him…

He was such an idiot.  He’d spent just a few days away from Dean, missing him and _worrying_ and—       

By some small miracle he resisted throwing the phone across the room, shoving it back at Kevin instead and knocking into a chair as he stumbled from him, desperate to get away. 

He stormed down the hall, quickening his pace, like he could leave behind the terrible twisting in his chest if he just went fast enough. 

Down two steps into the kitchen, he forced his fists to unclench, ignoring Charlie still at the counter with her back to him, singing along with the music and swaying slightly.  As soon as he spotted the apple pie on the table, still a touch warm on the bottom, he seized it and without a second thought he dropped it. 

It hit the floor with a loud satisfying crack.  

Castiel only felt good about it for about half a second before Charlie whirled around.

“Oh no! Cas, your pie. You worked so hard on it,” she said crouching to inspect the damage. “I think we can still salvage it, though.  The ceramic broke, but the pie’s still in one piece. I bet I can pick it up really carefully…”

Castiel’s hands were shaking like the anger was trying to jolt its way out of him.  He balled them into fists, but that only made the urge to lash out and hit something stronger.

Unable to force out an apology to Charlie, he just left her there fussing over the pie before staggering back into the hall and to his room. 

Banging the door shut behind him, Castiel quickly locked it.  He didn’t want anyone to come talk to him. 

The mirror above his small sink was hanging open, the way he _always_ left it and Castiel hated it.  He grabbed at it, slamming the door shut repeatedly, nearly tearing it off its hinges.  The glass didn’t break and Castiel could see his angry, tear-streaked face looking back at him, so he tried again. Punching the glass, smashing his fist relentlessly until it finally gave way. It cracked, then splintered before it shattered, raining glass shards all over the sink.

Castiel spun around, shoving a small pile of books off his desk and kicking his chair out of the way. Destruction felt good. Really good. He nearly reached for his little herb planter to hurl at the wall but stopped short, chest heaving as he pulled his hand away from the innocent green sprouts.

Backing up to the wall, Castiel slid to the floor and covered his face with his hands.  Everything hurt and he was so tired of hurting. 

Faintly, he heard Charlie’s worried voice through the door, then Sam calling out and a minute later Dean too.  He couldn’t face any of them, but made himself respond when Dean threatened to force his way in. 

“Leave me alone,” Castiel coughed and tried to make his voice sound stronger.  “I’m fine. I just, I want to be left alone.”

“C’mon Cas! Let me in,” Dean banged on the door.

“Go away!”

“Like hell I’m—” but Dean’s response cut off and Castiel couldn’t make out the hushed argument happening outside his door but eventually Dean spoke again, “Fine. We’ll be here when you’re ready to come out. If you want to talk or you need something… Don’t worry about the pie, cause we’re not, you know… no one’s mad at you or whatever.”

Castiel huffed out a bitter laugh and wiped the tears away from his face angrily.

“Right,” he muttered not caring if they could hear him or not.  What right did Dean or any of them have to be mad at him?

Castiel remained on the floor of his room too exhausted to even move to the bed. He sat there long after he was sure they had all left, busy stewing over his anger at himself and Dean and his entire human existence.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so embarrassing to be so monumentally late. A thousand apologies for leaving you hanging, my friends. I'm fine--thank you for the concern--just a depressed wreck who can't seem to write. I became an aunt today though! So that is a more exciting life update. 
> 
> Not 100% thrilled with this chapter, but i held onto it for far too long so we're just forging ahead here. I hope you haven't all forgotten what happened, but it wouldn't surprise me if you did because wow that was a loooooooong break between chapters. A million thank you's for all the comments!! Really, they are amazing and sometimes I reread them to encourage myself. I am sorry for having not responded to all of you--i usually try to, but every time I started to I'd tell myself I should be writing the _chapter_ not responding to comments. Ugh but then no writing of any kind seemed to be happening. *sigh* But i do love and cherish your comments and I **will** respond even though it is many shameful months late.
> 
> Welcome new readers! Hello again my friends who have been here since i started! If anyone is still hanging around thank you!! Like you people are amazing. I hope you enjoy the chapter and I hope to be writing to you like this more regularly.
> 
> Edit: I started responding to the comments from last chapter that I hadn't yet. Must sleep now but I haven't forgotten the rest of you! 
> 
> Also please don't be too mad at Kevin. I forgot to say that.


	24. Chapter 24

Falling asleep while sitting in the hallway was a mistake.

Dean groaned and slowly moved his aching body. Never again.

“Dean. Wake up.”

His eyes flew open to find Cas standing over him.

“Cas?” Dean hauled himself to his feet, body be damned. “Hey, wha—son of a—goddamnit my leg’s asleep.”

Dean staggered slightly, his whole leg a numb, tingly mess and Castiel put out a hand to steady him.

“Go sleep in your bed, Dean.  It’s still early.”

No way that was happening. Dean had been parked outside of Castiel’s room all night for a reason and even though Cas didn’t sound angry with him like he had last night, he still seemed a bit irritated and looked like he hadn’t slept very well himself.

“Nah, I’m good.” Dean hesitated.  Behind Cas he could see slightly into his bedroom, the broken glass was still on the floor.  “Are you?”

Castiel looked away down the hall, radiating annoyance. He wet his lips before facing Dean and saying, “I’m fine.” It impressed Dean how much the clipped statement came out like a ‘fuck you.’

“Uh huh. And your hand? That fine too?” Dean nodded towards his injured hand and Castiel glared at it like his bruised knuckles had betrayed him. “At least let me fix you up and then you can go back to being pissed at me. C’mon.”

Dean started down the hall, relieved when he heard Castiel follow him a moment later. He led him into the kitchen, detouring to start the coffee before he got the first aid kit.  Sitting next to Cas, Dean took his hand from the table and began cleaning the tiny cuts, checking closely for any bits of glass. 

For the hundredth time, he wondered what specifically had upset Castiel the night before. From what Charlie had told him, Cas had kind of a rough time while they were gone, but he’d been handling it fairly well.  Of course, Cas wasn’t making it any easier on him.  Didn’t give him a single clue as to why he’d abruptly gone all Hulk smash the night before, no, he just kept silent, avoiding Dean’s gaze.

Carefully, Dean held Castiel’s stiff fingers and rubbed a thin layer of antibiotic cream into the worst of the scrapes before he got them both a cup of hot coffee and an ice pack for Castiel’s swollen fingers.

“So…” Dean said when he finally had nothing else to do and couldn’t stand to let the silence drag on any longer. “I would guess that you were pissed about being left behind, but you made that whole dinner and when Sam and I first walked in you seemed all right. You want to tell me what happened?”

Castiel lifted the ice pack and raised his hand to examine the work Dean had done. With a small sigh, the rigidness fell from his shoulders and when his eyes met Dean’s they were searching, cautious, but then he picked up the antibiotic cream and squeezed a little bit onto his finger.

They were already turned towards each other but Castiel still inched forward on his chair further into Dean’s space. Castiel’s knee slid between Dean’s and stayed there, lightly touching in a way that made Dean want to shove his chair back and move closer at the safe time.

Gently, Cas brought his hands to Dean’s face, cupping the uninjured side and turning his scraped cheek towards the light. Dean froze, certain that the quiet of the kitchen would reveal the furious beating of his heart. Cas had done this last night too, holding him so tenderly, so close that Dean could hear his every breath like a whisper in his ear.

Without Sam or Kevin loitering in the room, the moment felt less awkward and more intimate.

Dean gulped, his mouth slightly open, hardly daring to breathe with Cas right there. Uncertainly, Castiel dabbed ointment over the little cuts on his face, biting his lip in concentration.  His slow, careful touch a pleasure Dean didn’t deserve. None of the scrapes even needed the attention really, but Dean didn’t dare interrupt. 

After he’d treated all the broken skin, Castiel still held Dean’s face, softly dragging his fingertips over the prickly stubble and then the smooth skin higher up near his cheekbone and Dean couldn’t look away from his eyes, captivated by the concern he saw there, the sorrow.

Dean knew he should clear his throat or say something, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. When Castiel eventually met his eyes, the anger was completely gone and when his lingering touch left Dean’s face it seemed reluctant.

“I wasn’t mad,” he said finally.

“You sure about that?” Dean nudged Castiel’s injured hand on the table and he relented.

“Fine. I _was_ mad. I was angry about things in the past that I cannot change.”

“What they did to you?” Dean guessed.

Castiel sighed.  “You didn’t look for me, Dean.  After you told me to go. You didn’t call.”

“Cas—” Castiel held up a hand to silence him.

“I checked my phone.  That you didn’t bother to call for months… it hurt and it made me angry.”

“Yeah. That, uh, it makes me mad too,” Dean couldn’t look at Cas anymore. “I wanted to call you, I should’ve called you, but—”

“You’ve already explained about Sam, Dean. I understand how important he is and why you felt you could not contact me.” Cas wrapped both hands around his mug of coffee and took a sip. Dean wanted to tell Castiel that he was important too but struggled to make the words come out. “Knowing something doesn’t make it any easier to accept and getting mad about that one thing just made me angry about a lot of other things.”

“Well, you’ve got plenty to be mad about.” Dean hated being included in that category. “Maybe, next time, try to hit something with a little give. We’ve got a punching bag in the weight room, give it a few days to heal and that’ll be a great way to work out some anger.”

Castiel nodded at the suggestion without looking at him, lost in thought. Meanwhile, Dean berated himself for back tracking on his intentions.  He was supposed to be saying more, doing more to help Cas. These weeks together, as challenging as they’d been, were far better than the days he’d just spent away from Cas.  Dean wanted to be around, to be someone Cas could lean on and talk to, he wanted to be the one cooking meals with Cas and calming him after a nightmare, trying to make him smile.

He wanted that, but would Cas want it too, after the ways Dean hurt him?

“So, you really rage smashed that pie because you were mad at me, huh?” Dean joked trying to lighten the mood, but it only made Castiel look guilty.

“I’ll have to apologize to Charlie, all her hard work and then I ruined the whole dinner.”

“The pie is fine, Cas. Still looks pretty good for being dumped on the floor and we wouldn’t dream of eating all that food you made without you.” _Because you’re important_ , Dean didn’t say.  “It’s all in the fridge, we can have a do-over dinner tonight.  No harm done. I’m, uh, really excited to try it all.”

“You didn’t eat it?”

“No way. Not without you,” Dean confirmed. “And thanks. For this,” he gestured to his face and Castiel stared back.

“We’re even.”

“I don’t know about that,” Dean teased.  Castiel deflated slightly and Dean hurried to correct himself, “I mean, I owe _you_ still, Cas. Not the other way around…  Why don’t we go for a ride or take a walk or something?  I doubt Sam’s going running today with those stitches, but we could get out there together.  Or, it’s early still, but I could get some breakfast going. Teach you how to flip an omelet right.”

Castiel considered it, taking his time to answer, as Dean tried to keep his cool and sip his coffee and not act like he was dying to just do something with Cas that he might enjoy.  That the two of them could do together after so many days apart.  After he’d missed him.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Castiel said eventually and Dean couldn’t help the smile that broke across his face. 

 

The leisurely sunrise walk led to a simple drive to buy over a dozen varieties of doughnuts. Dean was determined to make Castiel try a bite of all of them because once they got there he realized Castiel had never had chocolate frosting or powdered sugar or cinnamon before. A travesty that needed to rectified at once.

Of course, at the mere mention of jelly filled doughnuts, Castiel’s face lit up and so Dean made sure to get a few of those, but he drew the line at letting Cas eat something so potentially messy in the car. Dean nearly gave in at the sour look on Castiel’s face as he grumpily selected a glazed doughnut to munch on instead.

They got back to the kitchen just as Charlie was blearily staring down boxes of cereal trying to make a decision, but she quickly abandoned them all in favor of bakery doughnuts. 

Eager to keep Castiel’s good mood going and to feed him as much food as he could while he was willing to eat, Dean set him up with piping hot coffee and a jelly doughnut and then started on making an elaborate breakfast. 

“I can help you with the cooking, Dean.  I know my way around the kitchen now,” Castiel offered as Dean banged open cupboards and noisily brought out pans, even dragging out the heavy waffle iron for good measure. He was trying to make enough noise to rouse Kevin and Sam into the kitchen as well. Get everybody together for some homemade breakfast and fresh doughnuts. Breathe a little life into the kitchen. 

“Nah, you and Charlie already made dinner, let me handle breakfast,” Dean assured beaming over at Charlie with powdered sugar on her face and Castiel holding his half-eaten doughnut near his mouth like he couldn’t wait to go back to eating it.

A bit of jelly dropped to Castiel’s plate as he took another generous bite and he eyed the spill sorrowfully for a moment, brow furrowed, before coming to a decision. Swiping a finger through the little plop of red, he carefully raised it, popping it into his mouth to suck off all the jelly and then licking his thumb for good measure.

Dean dropped the carton of milk he was holding. It thudded to the counter, clipping the edge of the big mixing bowl and flipping it sideways, engulfing him in a cloud of white flour while milk slowly spread across the counter.  For a moment there was silence except for the glug, glug sound of milk still spilling as Dean stood frozen in place trying to figure out where he had gone wrong, but then Charlie’s laughter broke out and she was hanging onto the table laughing at Dean while falling sideways into Cas who was taking Dean in wide-eyed. 

Still a bit stunned, Dean righted the milk, surveying the mess he’d made of himself and the kitchen. Naturally, Sam and Kevin chose that moment to round the corner.

“Dean—what?” Sam managed before he started laughing at him too and even Kevin cracked a smile at Dean’s misfortune.  “You look as dusty as this place did when we first found it.”

“He looks like the doughnut I just ate.”

Nearly angry at the dusting on his shirt and the taste of flour on his lips, Dean paused at the sight of Cas. Cas, next to a gleeful Charlie, his face a mix of surprise and amusement, not quite a smile, but the faint hint of one lingering beneath the surface like if one more funny thing happened it might actually appear.

“Yeah, okay, laugh it up,” Dean said stepping over the worst of the milk on the floor and heading for Charlie.  “You can make fun, but we better hug it out. No hard feelings and all that.” He opened his arms wide, ready to capture Charlie in a floury hug.

Never one to disappoint Charlie gave him the reaction he wanted, standing and pulling Cas to his feet as well so she could duck behind him and tell Dean not to come any closer. 

“Don’t you dare, Winchester, this shirt was a gift to me from the Queen of America.”

“Oh, naturally,” Dean snorted, arms spread wide.

Charlie was still using Cas as a shield, peeking from either side of him and stepping out of reach when Dean made a grab for her.  Too late, it occurred to Dean that Cas might not like the aggressive behavior, but he didn’t duck away.  Actually, Cas took one step forward into Dean’s open arms, hugging him voluntarily and saving Charlie from all the flour that was now surely clinging to him as well. 

“My hero,” Charlie said, slightly sarcastic as she walked away. 

Dean didn’t bother to worry about where she was going, because this was much better than his initial plan of wrapping them both in a hug. In hindsight he should have paid a bit more attention, because when he pulled back to survey the damage done, noting the sprinkle of flour on Castiel’s cheek and chin, the patches spotting his shirt, and the flecks of it in his hair, he should have seen Charlie taking aim.

The explosion of flour near his shoulder shrouded both of them in more white powder.

“Oh, Moondoor,” Dean wiped at his face, “that was a mistake.”

He stared Charlie down, one long calculating look, while Cas brushed flour off himself, unaware he was about to be caught in a kitchen crossfire. All at once everyone seemed to be moving. Dean darted forward, around the table, pulling Cas with him by the hand, as Charlie opened fire with more handfuls of flour and Kevin ran to join her. Dean snatched what he could from the island between them, vegetable oil and the big bag of sugar, thrusting both at Cas and snagging two of the larger pot lids to use as shields.

 “Use this to block,” Dean said, thrusting a lid at Cas and using his own to protect his face from the onslaught of flour. He tugged Cas into a crouch at the end of the island.

“I don’t understand. Why—”

“Food fight,” Dean offered as he tore open the bag of sugar and threw a handful wildly toward the other end of the island.

“Food _war_!” Charlie bellowed, correcting him. Dean grimaced when he heard the refrigerator door open.  Charlie and Kevin definitely had the tactical advantage and a near endless supply of ammunition with the fridge at their backs.

All Dean had was the shelving unit across from where he and Cas were hidden, but it was mainly dried goods, pasta, rice, cereal—nothing that would make much of a mess. Well, maybe a few things.

 “Pour some of that oil into the sugar and start throwing,” Dean instructed Cas as shredded cheese started to rain down on them.  Sparing him a curious look, Cas did as he was told mixing the two ingredients with his hands and coming up with an oily scoop. Dean took two of his own, the mixture squelching between his fingers.  “Cover me a minute, we need more supplies.”

Dean sprang from his hiding spot, throwing the grainy wad back towards Charlie but they’d both been ready for him.  Kevin fired two eggs in quick succession, the first hit his shoulder and the second the back of his head, splattering in Dean’s hair and sending the cold insides sliding down his neck into his collar.  The slimy feeling was gross enough to distract him from the tomatoes Charlie threw.

Quickly loading his arms up with as much food as he could carry, Dean dashed back to Cas still crouched on the floor. He struggled to unscrew the jars of pickles and applesauce that he’d snatched since his oily hands couldn’t get a decent grip.  Castiel’s hands were just as bad, coated with sugar that was clumping in places.

“This seems like a terrible waste of food,” Castiel said as he mechanically rolled another sugar-ball.  He had bits of cheese and tomato in his hair.

“Absolutely,” Dean agreed as he used his shirt for traction and finally popped the lid off one of the jars.

“Hey! Not my yogurt!” Sam called from the doorway where he’d been watching the whole kitchen dissolve into chaos. “And I am _not_ cleaning _any_ of this up!

“Peach yogurt is the worst and you _know_ it, Sam! Now pick a side or we’ll unite against you and, oh look! There’s no food where you’re standing!” Charlie threatened before she shrieked under the siege of pickle slices Dean lobbed in her direction.

“You and Cas both like that yogurt,” Sam grumbled as he came down the steps and took it away from Charlie to put back in the fridge.

“A brother versus brother showdown, now we’re talking!”

“Sam’s just a giant target!” Dean called back.

“We’re outnumbered now, Dean, and our supplies are limited. Maybe I should get the doughnuts?”  Cas asked.

 “No way! The doughnuts are off limits. Let's just hit them with everything we got on three."

Dean quickly counted and he and Cas stood as one, throwing what they had left and getting pummeled in return. Something white and creamy hit Dean in the face, another egg hit his side and then his chest. He wiped the goop from his face, recognizing the taste as sour cream and tried to aim again with his handful of applesauce. Too many globs of food were flying for him to be certain if he hit anyone, though his chances were good since Charlie, Kevin, and Sam were standing close together and even ducking behind one another as they scooped up more food to fling.

For a few frenzied minutes it continued and Dean allowed the decimation of his kitchen to go on because the assholes across from him were all smiling and laughing when they weren't busy yelling. And he didn't hear Cas laugh, but he never missed a beat, chucking food just as quickly as the others. Cas ran out of food before Dean and started scooping up the larger splatters on the counter in front of them and winging them back the way they came.  When Dean threw the last of his pickles and applesauce and could barely see for the newest mess slung in his face, Cas pulled him back down behind the cover of the island.

"Now what?" he demanded, drenched in half the contents of the fridge and wiping at peanut butter on his forehead.

Dean started laughing at the sight of Cas.  Laughing made a couple of black beans fall from his hair and that just set him off even more.

Dean didn't care that they were all but defeated because Cas had a small smile on his face too and it felt like he'd won. That simple little lift at the corners of his lips made the whole mess worthwhile. Cas was smiling and Dean could do anything. He wanted to do everything to protect that fragile happiness for Cas, to preserve that tiny smile. He wanted to turn it into a bigger one, to transfer his own wide grin to Cas with a kiss, to press their lips together and taste flour and sugar and whatever that red stuff was caught just above Castiel’s lip. 

Maybe it was for the best that the others chose that moment to pour tomato sauce all over both of them. At the last second Dean saw it coming in his periphery and dodged out of the way so that only his one side got caught in the flood of red.  Cas caught the worst of it. The sauce drenched his hair and covered his shoulders. He popped up from where he’d been poorly hidden behind the island, slipping a little in the sauce on the floor. Cas wiped at his face, sloughing off the excess sauce and flinging it towards Sam and Kevin who danced out of reach.

“Okay, all right,” Dean said, blocking Cas from possible retaliation. “Let’s just call a truce before you barbarians get a hold of something important like my pie.” He sighed, surveying the disaster of a kitchen. “We should have made a ‘throwing vegetables only’ rule.”  

“We accept your surrender,” Charlie said triumphantly. Of the five of them, she was the least covered in food. Dean kind of wanted to throw more at her since she started the whole mess. He resisted though, and struggled out of his flannel, tugging at his sodden sleeve to free himself.

Sam followed his lead, removing his outer layer while Charlie and Kevin helped to brush the worst off each other.  When Dean turned back to Cas he was pleasantly surprised to see Cas carefully removing his stained hoodie. 

Cas never took off layers. Not in the bunker, not out in the sun, or in the hot car. Dean argued good naturedly with Charlie about who should clean up while Cas felt at the damp parts of his shirt before slowly unbuttoning that to peel it off as well, leaving him in a simple Henley with a t-shirt underneath. 

Smiling despite the cold wetness that was seeping from his sock into his boot, Dean declared no showering until the kitchen was spotless. He ignored the grumbled complaints and took pity on Cas who still had way too much sauce in his hair and a smear of peanut butter on his cheek by helping him wipe it off the best he could with a paper towel.

The kitchen cleanup was slow and repetitive work. Food had found its way into pots and pans that were previously clean and walls needed to be scrubbed in addition to floors.

“Remind me never to do this again,” Kevin said after nearly an hour of them all working together.

“At least the doughnuts survived unscathed,” Charlie reasoned, helping herself to one with sprinkles since Dean had cancelled breakfast due to a sudden shortage of eggs.

When the kitchen was more or less back in order, Dean sent Sam and Cas to the showers first.  He was inclined to just sit at the table and nurse a coffee until his turn, but then Dean remembered the broken glass in Castiel’s room and he didn’t want him walking in there barefoot.

Broom in hand, Dean went carefully down the hall so as not to trek any food elsewhere, but when he got to Castiel’s room he found him finishing picking up the glass, still in his stained clothing.

“You beat me to it.”

“I made the mess. I can clean it up.”

“Well, it’s a lot easier with help,” Dean said and set to work giving the small room a thorough sweeping to make sure they got all the tiniest pieces.

As he swept, Dean felt like he should say something about the broken mirror or the way Cas used his clothes to hide and how he didn’t have to.  That he didn’t have to be ashamed about his scars.

“Are you comfortable like that?”

Cas looked down at himself.

“You mean with sticky hair and egg all over my pants?”

“No, I mean wearing just the two shirts instead of four,” Dean gestured vaguely towards Castiel’s clothes. “You don’t have to be hiding under so many layers all the time if you don’t want to.”

Castiel plucked thoughtfully at the hem of his shirt but said nothing.

“Obviously it’s up to you, but you know you don’t need to hide from us, right? And whatever you’re seeing and not liking in the mirror? That’s not what I see.  It’s just you, Cas. When I look at you, I see my friend, my best friend. Probably the best person I know and those scars don’t define you. They don’t change who you are. And who you are is pretty awesome. You should know that.”

“You mean that.”

“’Course I do. You think I just say this stuff for shits and giggles?”

Determinedly ignoring the blush he could feel creeping up his neck, Dean forced himself to look at Cas and was taken aback by how close he looked to tears. For a second Dean thought he had screwed up, but then he realized that there was gratitude there too and maybe a bit of disbelief. Like Cas thought what he said was too generous when it barely even scratched the surface of how Dean felt about him.

“That’s… Dean, I don’t ...” Castiel sighed, “Thank you, Dean.”

“It’s all true. Just don’t ah, don’t go spreading that around. We can’t tell the others that you’re my favorite or everyone’ll be vying for the top spot.   The bunker would dissolve into, uh…heh,” Dean nearly lost his train of thought too distracted by the fond look Cas was giving him, another almost smile touching his lips, “…um, into chaos.”

Dean grinned back at him.

Forget keeping his nice thoughts about Cas to himself. If it meant making Cas a tiny bit happier Dean was going to start saying them. Embarrassment be damned.

But then Cas beat him to it.

“You may be teasing me now, but what you said? It’s true for me, Dean. In all of creation, you’re my favorite being.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve never been to Asia, right?”

Castiel frowned at Dean’s lame joke but it had been the very first thing Dean thought of and he couldn’t say nothing after Cas went all doe-eyed and fond like that. 

“I’m making you uncomfortable,” Cas said.

“Nah.”

“Would it make you feel better if I said you’re my favorite _so far_?”

Dean could tell Castiel was just screwing with him now and he couldn’t help his smile because Cas hadn’t snarked at him in a while.

“Oh, yeah, that’s much better, cause it’s only been, what a few million years, right?” Dean rolled his eyes. 

“It goes by quick.”

“All that time and I’m the best you could find, huh? That’s just sad.”

“What would you know, you’ve only been alive for five minutes.”

“Guess that makes you the expert,” Dean said, before Sam, fresh from the shower with only a towel around his waist, stopped at the open door to tell them he was out, abruptly ending all their staring.  

 

 

Dinner that night was the best Dean had in a long time. He couldn’t believe Cas and Charlie whipped up an entire meal all by themselves and he couldn’t remember the last time someone made him a home-cooked meal.  Sure, Sam made sandwiches sometimes but it wasn’t the same and anything he cooked missed the flavor mark by a mile.  This though? This was good.

Surprisingly the eggplant parm tasted great, the sauce really made it, and with several meatballs on the side and a couple slices of garlic bread Dean was all set.  Even the salad was pretty good with salty bits of bacon and feta cheese sprinkled on top. Dean had to stop himself from going for thirds on nearly everything because he had to save room for the apple pie that’d been slowly warming in the oven and making his mouth water through the entire meal.

More than once Dean caught himself grinning stupidly at Cas around mouthfuls of food and he couldn’t care less if anyone else noticed because he just felt ridiculously happy. His mouth kind of hurt from all the smiling he’d been doing. He could tell Cas liked seeing him enjoying what they’d made so he moaned out his hearty approval on several bites dramatically enough that Sam smacked him in the arm and said, “Stop it, Dean. No one eats like that.”

He managed to shut up until he got to the pie, the warm, gooey, crispy, perfect pie. It wasn’t much to look at after being dropped but the taste was so fresh and this time the satisfied noise that escaped him was involuntary. Sam and Kevin were just as vocal in thanking Cas and Charlie for the delicious dinner and dessert and Dean had to stop himself from gushing too much even though Cas looked so pleased at the praise.

After dinner, Dean was so full he needed to go flop down on his stomach and not move for a while. He let Cas pick from movies he suggested and the two of them watched E.T. on Castiel’s bed with the laptop in his lap and Dean struggling to stay awake next to him. 

A little while into the movie, Cas moved, bringing his hand to Dean’s head and carefully touching his hair.  Dean froze in surprise even though the gentle petting felt amazing.

“Is this okay? Do you like it?”

“Feels good,” Dean mumbled and hugged his pillow closer, half wishing he was using Cas as a pillow instead.

“Good. I like it too. Charlie did it for me the other day. It’s very calming.”

Dean closed his eyes and relaxed into the touch. This was what he’d been missing all week.  What he’d been missing for years.

Maybe he could have it after all.

Then again Cas was only doing it as a friend, right? The way Charlie had for him.

Crap. Here they were in bed together and Dean still had no idea how to take the closeness he already had with Cas and turn it into dating. He’d never had a friendship that evolved into dating. Not to mention, the thought of trying to cross that line with Cas, to transition from friendship to something more, terrified him.

But at the same time, lying in bed together watching a movie and all but cuddling felt pretty damn close to the real thing and Dean knew he wanted it. God, he wanted it so bad.

A knock on the nearly closed door interrupted his thoughts.

“Come in,” Cas called as he paused the movie.

“Oh,” Kevin said from across the room, “I didn’t know you were—is he asleep?”

Cas looked down at Dean and he cracked an eye open in response.

“I’m awake,” Dean pulled himself into a sitting position, rubbing at his face, more irritated at the interruption than embarrassed. “What’s up?”

“I needed to talk to Cas… but you know, maybe you should hear it too.”

Dean wondered if Cas knew what this was about.  He was looking at Kevin rather seriously and Dean started to offer to leave but Kevin spoke over him.

“Cas, I’m sorry about last night. I’m not sorry for telling you, since I still think you needed to know, but I could have maybe done things differently.”

Dean frowned.  “Wait, what is this about?”

“It’s okay, Kevin,” Cas said.  “I was upset about more than just the things you said.”

“Which was what?” Dean looked between the two of them and he didn’t miss the irritated look from Kevin, but screw that, Cas had been really upset last night and Dean wanted to know why.

“I told him what an asshole you were.”

“Kevin,” Cas tried but Kevin ignored him, nearly yelling at Dean.

“I told him about how you never bothered to call him or text him the whole time he was missing!  About how once you finally bothered to call him and realized something was wrong it took you less than a _week_ to find him.  And I should’ve told him that the reason the whole thing pissed me off so much was because, not only didn’t you care what happened to Cas, but because _he_ got the rescue mission! And what about my _mom_? She’s been missing even longer! Only she’s not missing! Crowley has her! As good as dead, you said, but maybe it’s something worse than that.”

Dean stood abruptly from the bed and sighed. Across from him, Cas shoved the laptop aside and slowly stood as well, his face concerned and surprised and a bit scared as he watched Dean.

“If we had any clue that your mom was still alive, Kevin, then I would do something about it.”

“It’s true?” Cas sounded shocked and Dean felt it like a punch to the gut.

“I think Crowley telling me she’s alive is a pretty big fucking clue!”

“Yeah, but Crowley lies, Kev. You know that. We all know that. First he told you she was dead, then he told you she was alive because he wanted something. He’s just messing with you.”

“No,” Cas said and Dean snapped his head around to make sure he heard right. “No, Crowley doesn’t lie. Not really. He omits and tells half-truths and withholds information as it benefits him, but if he told you she’s alive, I’d believe it to be true.  Saying she was dead to hurt Kevin and then reveling she’s alive when he thought it would give him the upper hand makes sense.  And if there’s a chance it’s true, then we have to try and find her. We can’t leave her there. We need to get her out.”

All this time Dean truly hadn’t been thinking about Linda Tran.  He’d only blamed himself for another lost life and then tried to bury it so he wouldn’t have to feel the guilt every time he looked at Kevin.  But Cas and Kevin were right, it could be true and maybe it was a long shot to hope, but they’d certainly beaten the odds before.

“Crowley would lie about what he ate for breakfast just to have something to say.” Cas looked like he was about to interrupt so Dean quickly continued. “But you could be right about this.  We should look for her.  I don’t,” Dean hesitated and then forced himself to look at Kevin, “I don’t know how it’ll turn out, but like Cas said, if there’s a chance, then we should do something.  And I was wrong to not do anything sooner, Kevin. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, okay,” Kevin said slowly, a bit surprised. “Okay, so what now?”

“I guess we sleep on it, think of ideas, and come up with a plan in the morning?” Dean suggested, mainly because he was beat after being on the road for days and barely sleeping in the hall last night.

“No,” Cas said again, all authority and certainness, “We need to summon Crowley here and interrogate him right now.  That’s the plan.”

Dean was so proud of Cas for saying no and outright disagreeing with him that he didn’t even bother arguing back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! An update, woohooo!!! 
> 
> Mmmmm I can nearly taste the destiel at this point. Also, is Kevin forgiven? He means well. 
> 
> Anyway, I've been staring at my computer screen entirely too long today already so this will be brief, but just, as always, thanks for reading and commenting and all the kudos and, of course, your continuing patience! You have my endless thanks!
> 
> On to the next chapter!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Torment](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8202128) by [Hanzel_Watson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hanzel_Watson/pseuds/Hanzel_Watson)




End file.
